


Coming Home to You

by PhiraLovesLoki



Series: 1k Follower Giveaway Stories [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sweet Home Alabama Fusion, Childhood Friends, F/M, Past Character Death, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-10-30 17:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10881879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiraLovesLoki/pseuds/PhiraLovesLoki
Summary: Emma Swan has worked hard to escape her troubled past and start a brand new life. But with that brand new life now involving a new fiancé, there’s something in her old hometown that she has to go back for: a divorce.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mishasbabyminion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishasbabyminion/gifts).



> This story was commissioned by and written for @mishasbabyminion, who won an original multi-chapter story in my 1k follower giveaway! This story was a long time in the making, since I wasn’t able to start it until January. She requested a Sweet Home Alabama AU, and while this might be a little more SWA-flavored than a straight AU, I hope that it lives up to her expectations!
> 
> I would like to thank @brooke-to-broch and @optomisticgirl for helping me hash out the plot way back when, @caprelloidea and @swankkat for the general support, and most importantly @lifeinahole27, who not only pushed me to get through this, but also beta-read like a frickin’ boss.
> 
> This story will be updated on Thursdays until it is complete.

Emma let herself look at the ring one more time before she went to bed.

It was  _ really _ nice, which was a little disturbing when she thought about it. She knew Graham wasn’t rolling in dough, and they’d only been dating eight months. How long had he been saving up for this? How long had he known, “Hey, I wanna marry this chick?”

Okay, so maybe Graham didn’t talk like that, but even so, the thought of marrying him hadn’t crossed her mind once the entire eight months. Knowing that he’d been thinking about it, and that it was more than a spur of the moment idea, was a little awkward.

She shook her head and shut the ring box. No, she  _ shouldn’t _ be pining after a spur of the moment proposal. She knew better than that. Graham’s proposal had been perfect.

He’d pulled some strings so that they’d both had a full day off together. He’d stayed over the night before and woken her up with breakfast in bed. They’d gone ice skating on the Frog Pond, something she’d admitted to always wanting to try, and he was patient and kind when she wobbled and complained about sucking at it. Afterwards, back at her place, he’d fucked her so senseless that she’d actually suggested they stay in for dinner because he’d worn her out so much.

His reaction to that request had been her tip-off that something was going on. She’d noticed right away that he seemed almost panicked at the idea of staying in. He covered for it immediately, saying  _ of course _ they could eat in and placing an order with her favorite sushi place. But it was too late: she’d known something was up.

Sure enough, after they’d finished their meal, he’d pulled the ring out and made a very nice speech about feeling at home and being a family and some other sweet, romantic stuff she could barely remember because of the panic and shock she’d been experiencing at the time.

Graham, of course, had been totally understanding, saying that because they’d never talked about marriage before, he wanted her to have time to think about it. He didn’t want her to feel obligated to say yes just because he’d asked, or because he’d bought a ring; he wanted her to decide what she really,  _ really _ wanted, and be honest with herself  _ and _ with him.

He’d left soon after that, insisting that she hold onto the ring. “If you decide to say yes, you can just show up to work wearing it, and it’ll be the happiest surprise of my life,” he’d said, before kissing her gently and shutting the door behind him.

She shuddered, shut the ring box, and climbed into bed. She had  _ never _ planned on getting married again. Not ever. Just the  _ thought _ of marriage brought up an overwhelming number of unpleasant emotions. Shame. Terror. Guilt.

But marriage didn’t have to be the same as it had been before, right?

Graham loved her. Adored her. Worshipped the ground she walked on. Every single day, either in person, over the phone, or through text, he found some way to make it clear how much he cared about her. He really  _ did _ love her. This wasn’t just a favor from a friend.

And marrying him wouldn’t ruin him. It wouldn’t hurt him.

She was just Emma Swan to Graham, a fellow cop who was from Maine but never talked about her past. That was it. Getting married could  _ just _ be about getting married. It didn’t have to mean anything else.

She let out a shaky breath. Okay. She was going to do it.

She just had to get a divorce first.


	2. Chapter One

Some things never changed.

Ten years later, Emma didn’t need a map or GPS to know where she was going. Hell, she didn’t even need to check the route the night before. She just hopped in her car and let muscle memory take her back. She knew better than the GPS would anyway—like _hell_ was she driving through Portland, no matter what Maps told her.

But then again, some things _did_ change. The toll booths were now gone, replaced with an all-electronic system. There were new strip malls visible from the highway, many that included businesses that hadn’t existed ten years ago. And the bathrooms at the rest stop were way nicer than she remembered.

Her heart began to race as she pulled off of the interstate, and by the time she saw the _Welcome to Storybrooke_ sign, she was pretty sure her blood pressure was elevated. But muscle memory didn’t stop; it kept dragging her to her destination. She was on automatic, to the point where she’d already parked the Bug and shut off the engine before she realized she’d pulled into the same spot in the driveway she always had in high school.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, glanced up at the ceiling of the car as though she could see the stars watching down on her.

She just had to get through the weekend. That was it. Get through the weekend, go back to Boston, and this could all just be an unpleasant, stressful memory.

She’d deal with her husband tomorrow. She couldn’t face him tonight. Tonight, she’d just see her parents. Get up the guts to do what needed to be done.

When she reached the door, she wasn’t sure whether or not to knock. It was late enough that if she just stepped inside, Dad might panic and think she was an intruder. But she could totally imagine knocking and then having Mom be _horrified_ that she hadn’t felt at home enough to just come inside.

“This is so stupid,” she whispered to herself as she pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through her contacts. It only took a second to find the number—it was one she knew by heart and had entered into her phone ages ago, but she’d never once called it. She took a deep breath, tapped the number, and pressed send.

It only took a moment before she could hear the sound of the ancient telephone ringing inside the house. Her heart ricocheted around her rib cage as she heard the murmured voices of her parents, probably either commenting on who could be calling so late, or which one of them would answer it.

And then—

“Hello?” Mom had answered.

“Uh, hi.” Oh god, she hadn’t even thought about what to say. “It’s, uh, it’s me.”

“Emma?” Her mother’s response was practically a gasp. “Oh goodness, are you all right? Is everything okay? David! David, it’s Emma!”

“Yeah, I’m—Mom! Mom, I’m fine.”

“Emma?” Her father had commandeered the phone. “Sweetheart, if this is an emergency, you need to hang up and call 911, okay?”

“Oh god, no, it’s—I’m _here_ but I didn’t want to startle you guys by just walking in.”

“You—you’re _here?”_

“She’s _here?”_ she could hear her mother say.

“Uh, yeah,” Emma replied awkwardly.

“You mean _here_ here?” her father said.

“Yes, _here_ here.” She could hear frantic footsteps, and before she could decide whether or not to hang up on her dad, the door flung open.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t known her parents had aged in the ten years she’d been gone. And while they weren’t the most technologically advanced people she’d ever met, they _did_ know how to take photos, upload them to the internet, and attach them to emails. So she’d seen pictures of them since she’d left a decade ago.

But it was one thing to see them slowly age in photos; it was another to see the changes in person. Her mom’s face was lined and her hair was streaked with gray, and while she didn’t exactly look like she was in her late fifties, she definitely looked ten years older than she’d been before.

“Emma!” she shrieked, and then Emma couldn’t really keep analyzing her mom’s appearance because she was enveloped in a massive hug.

Dad came to the door next; seeing him ten years older was just as weird. But the smile that broke over his face made him look at least twenty years younger, and soon he’d joined the bear hug.

Emma tried not to get too choked up. After all, she’d made the decision to leave and limit contact. She’d _had_ to—it was the only thing she _could_ have done. But still, it felt _stupid_ to feel so relieved and happy to see them when it was her own choice for a decade _not_ to.

Now wasn’t the time to think about it, she told herself.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing here?” Mom asked, finally pulling away. “Not that we’re—well, of _course_ we’re happy you’re here,” she added firmly. “We’re just so surprised!”

“Is everything okay?” Dad asked. He took a step back, examining her almost critically. “You _look_ okay.”

“David,” Mom admonished, “she looks _more_ than okay!” She turned back to Emma with a teary smile. “She’s the beautiful young woman we always knew she’d become.”

“Stop,” Emma said, her cheeks hot. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Wait, why are we all standing in the doorway?” Mom asked. “Did you eat? If you just got here, I can’t imagine you had time to eat.”

“I’m okay,” Emma said, letting her mom pull her into the house. “I stopped for dinner on the way.”

“You mean you stopped for a greasy, unappetizing burger that could hardly be called such,” Mom said knowingly. “Come on, we’ve got leftovers.”

The house was nearly the same, Emma noted as she was dragged along into the kitchen. The living room still had the same set-up, with the old saggy couch and Dad’s armchair that was Mom’s least favorite item in the whole world. The guest bathroom still had a scented candle on the back of the toilet, and a basket of magazines on the floor. There were still photos all over the walls, many of them tilted _almost_ at the right angle, but not quite.

But, Emma thought with a frown, things were different, too. The old television had been replaced with a panel TV that was even bigger than the one that Graham had. The cabinet sink in the bathroom had been replaced with a pedestal sink, which she knew couldn’t have been Mom’s idea. And the photos …

Most of them were ones she knew. Family moments from her childhood, or Mom and Dad’s wedding, or landscapes from when Dad was taking a photography class. But there were new ones.

There were low-quality printouts of the few photos she’d emailed them over the years. There was an artfully angled photo of her getting her college degree; she’d had to make sure they couldn’t figure the community college she’d gone to, or what the last name on the degree even was. There was the photo of her on vacation at the Cape, cropped to disguise the location. And then there was the photo of her just waving to say hi on her mom’s fifty-fifth birthday last year.

And there were newer photos of Mom and Dad, sometimes just one of them, sometimes both of them … and sometimes with …

Her heart sank. At least she’d made the right decision, limiting contact with Mom and Dad. Otherwise, maybe they would have told him where to find her, or worse, he would have figured it out himself.

“So,” Mom said, practically bubbling over with cheeriness as she heated up some sort of casserole. “Not that we’d be upset if you were just here for a visit, but …”

“Right,” Emma said, sitting down at the table. “No, I’m only here for the weekend. I have to drive home Sunday.”

“For work?” Dad asked, clearly fishing for more information.

“Yeah.” That wasn’t entirely true: it was so that she couldn’t second-guess herself, or let anyone convince her to stay. But might as well go with work.

“Which is?”

There was no longer any harm in telling them; her name and address were on the divorce papers. And Graham _did_ expect to meet her parents at some point; he’d made that much clear when she’d told him why she was coming up to Maine. So, they’d eventually know where she lived and what she did for work. Might as well pull off the bandaid now.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her badge. Mom gasped and Dad beamed.

“You’re a cop?” he asked, taking the offered badge and opening it to see her identification.

“Yep.”

“Honey, that’s fantastic!” Mom said, taking a break from reheating food to give her another tight hug. “A cop! David, can you believe it?”

Dad’s unshed tears of pride were obvious, but there was a flash of confusion when he read her ID. “‘Swan?’” he asked.

“What swan?” Mom asked.

“It says, ‘Emma Swan,’” he said, holding up the badge for her to see.

“I didn’t want to keep his last name,” Emma explained lamely.

“Who’s ‘Swan’ then?” Dad asked almost suspiciously.

“No one. I mean, it’s _me._ I just made it up because it sounded good.”

“What’s wrong with ‘Nolan?’ I mean, there’s nothing wrong with going back to your maiden name, right?”

“David,” Mom warned.

“Right,” he said, saving Emma the trouble of having to admit the truth: she didn’t want him to use his resources to find her. He blinked and shook his head, and once again focused on the badge. “What made you decide to be a cop?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I felt like it was something I could do. I had a good role model.”

That seemed to satisfy him, and he grinned. “Well, you must be a great cop, sweetheart, because Boston PD is tough to break into.”

Even in her late twenties, this kind of praise was hard to accept. “Eh, I do my best.”

“Enough to get a whole weekend off,” Mom commented proudly, pushing a plate and silverware in front of her. “So?” she asked expectantly. Emma knew what she meant: she wouldn’t have come home for the weekend just to tell them she’d been a cop for a few years already.

“So … okay, hold on.” She reached down for her bag, which she’d dropped beside her chair, and pulled out the ring box. “I, uh … I have a boyfriend, and he kind of proposed two weeks ago. So, fiancé now, I guess.”

On her way up, she’d tried to convince herself that they’d just be excited for her. But as soon as she’d seen the photos on the wall, she knew she’d been wrong.

She watched with almost grim satisfaction as their faces temporarily fell before they both clearly remembered that they were _supposed_ to be happy for her. Their sudden smiles looked so fake, though, and before they could even get out the words of congratulations, she shook her head.

“Right, so you know why I’m here then.”

“Oh, Emma,” Mom said, with a sigh, dropping her fake smile. “It’s not that we’re not happy for you.”

“You didn’t think I was here to get back together with him?” she asked glumly.

“No, but we did sort of assume that you’d sworn off marriage.”

“Yeah, well, I’d thought so, too.”

“So, who’s this guy?” Dad asked.

“He’s another cop,” she explained. “We’ve been together for almost a year. His name’s Graham; you’d really—well, you _will_ like him.” She chuckled. “I mean, he managed to crack _me,_ so …”

That got a weak laugh out of both of her parents. “Well, he sounds lovely,” Mom said. “Will we get to meet him?”

“Yes,” Emma said firmly. “He suggested that when he and I have some more time off, maybe when you’re done with the school year, Mom, you guys could come down to visit us in Boston.”

“I think that would be very nice,” Mom said, her smile becoming more genuine. Emma took that as a good sign and relaxed a bit, which ended up being a mistake. “Now, Emma, promise us that your _first_ stop tomorrow is Killian’s house, okay? You don’t want him finding out that you’re engaged through the grapevine.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I will.” She knew just how fast gossip spread in this town. It was one of the reasons she’d gotten the hell out as soon as she could and never looked back.

The least she could do was make sure that, besides her parents, Killian Jones would be the first person to know he was getting divorced.


	3. Chapter Two

The Jones’ house was right where Emma had left it all those years ago, down by the seashore, a half-mile’s walk from her parents’ house. She and Killian had worn a pathway between the two houses as young children, and when they’d gotten a little older, they’d gotten help from Dad and Killian’s brother Liam to clear the path better and even build a little official bridge over a small creek.

Emma felt strange taking the path. It felt fraught with meaning, like she was coming  _ home _ to him or something. In reality, she just really didn’t want to drive the Bug during daylight hours, so everyone and their mother could gossip over the fact that Emma Jones  _ née _ Nolan was back in town after running away for ten years, and she was seen driving over to her estranged husband’s house, probably to ruin his life even more.

So if Killian wanted to read too much into her method of travel, so be it. That was  _ his _ problem.

Seeing his house was just as weird as seeing her own had been. The Jones’ house had been a second home to her as a child, and then her official home for almost a month as a teenager. She knew its nooks and crannies just as well as she knew those in her own childhood home, and she knew that she’d be playing the same game of “spot the difference” as soon as she walked in the door.

That was assuming he even let her  _ in _ the door, she reminded herself as she knocked. She shifted back and forth on her feet anxiously as she waited; it felt like it took a lifetime before the door finally opened.

The look of shock on Killian’s face when he saw her would have brought a smirk to her face, but she was reasonably sure she had an equally ridiculous expression on hers.

It wasn’t that he’d been an unattractive teenager. On the contrary, he’d always been a cute kid. But she had  _ not _ been prepared to see how much he’d grown into his good looks. He was just absolutely  _ gorgeous. _

Oh god, she had not been prepared for him to look this good.

“Emma?”

She quickly looked down, to avoid staring at his stupidly handsome face, and it took her a full several seconds to register that she was now looking at a prosthetic hook.

“Oh my god, what happened to your hand?”

There was a full beat, and she sort of hoped a storm would suddenly appear so she could be struck by lightning on the spot. With this plus the divorce, she was seriously going to trash his weekend.

“Well, I suppose we’ve gotten that out of the way.” Another decade of living in the States was slowly but steadily erasing his British accent. It was still there, but softer than she remembered.

She covered her face with her hand. “Is there some kind of word for ‘hyper-sorry?’”

“I take it you’re embarrassed that your first words to me in a decade are about my missing appendage?”

“Understatement.”

He chuckled, and her shoulders automatically relaxed, like it was ten years ago and she didn’t have any reason to be stressed around him. “Would you like to come in? Or, actually, I was about to head down to the water if you’d like to join me.” He gestured at his clothing; he was already wearing swim trunks.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” she said, hefting up her backpack to show him. “I was planning on going at some point, so I have my towel and sunscreen and stuff.”

“Why don’t you come in first?” he mused. “If you’re joining me, perhaps we should bring lunch with us.”

She finally dropped her hand from her face to look him in the eye. He was smiling almost wistfully, and her heart broke a little at the familiarity of the situation. God, he should  _ hate  _ her. Why was he smiling at her? “We haven’t seen each other in ten years, and the first thing I do is insult you, and now you want to offer me food?”

“Well, I suppose I could shut the door in your face,” he said, pulling his features into what she used to call his  _ fake thinking face _ . “But I’ve missed you quite terribly and it doesn’t feel right to punish myself by denying myself your company.”

Ten years had passed, and so much had changed, and yet—

“All right, but only if I can help you sort out lunch.”

“Twist my arm, why don’t you—”

She’d expected to play her little “same/different” game when she stepped inside, but she practically gasped.  _ Nothing _ was the same. “What the  _ hell _ happened in here?”

He winced. “Is it terrible?”

“Did you go on an HGTV show or something?” Was she even in the same house? She was about to ask if there had been some kind of settlement from whatever had cost him his hand, but she managed to shut her mouth in time to stop that horrible question from coming out.

“Not exactly.” He didn’t elaborate on it.

It was just … weird. The past half a day had been a weird blur of nostalgia for her. Familiar roads, familiar buildings, familiar surroundings in general. The little differences were a little jarring, but they were  _ little. _ Even her childhood bedroom was mostly unchanged, though her mom had replaced the quilt on the bed, taken down the old boy band posters, and kept the place much neater than Emma had ever been able to.

But this was like being in another  _ world _ somehow. The layout downstairs was so different, she was having trouble figuring out how it had even been transformed into  _ this _ from the original floorplan. For years, she’d felt claustrophobic every time she walked in the door, stepping into the mudroom before wandering down the tight, dark, wood-paneled corridor to the sitting room at the back of the house. There had been doors throughout the whole hallway, always closed because for some stupid reason, they  _ all _ opened  _ into _ the hallway, preventing anyone from passing. It had taken her a while to get the hang of exiting the bathroom without smacking Killian or Liam in the face with the door.

That was gone—all gone. Now, everything was  _ open. _ There were a few doors on her right, but everything else was one big room: a gorgeous kitchen with high-end appliances and a huge island, an elegant dining area with a simple pendant light hanging over the table, and a cosy sitting area arranged around a fireplace, with big windows overlooking the nearby waterfront. Everything was bright, thanks to all the natural light and the white paint on the walls, free at last from their horrible, dated paneling.

“Holy shit,” she said, practically whispering. “Killian, this is surreal.”

“Aye, well, I suppose the effect is more shocking if you were fortunate enough to miss the renovations,” he replied. “It’s been such a gradual change, I haven’t really noticed.”

“I guess.”

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, feel free to poke around the fridge, and I’ll show you the pantry as well. Just throw whatever you’d like in the cooler. I’ll be back in a moment.”

The fridge might have been fancy and new, but the contents were a relief. His taste in food hadn’t changed at all, nor had his organizational skills; she smiled a little wistfully as she pulled some string cheese out of the deli drawer, knowing not only that they’d be there, but also exactly which brand he still preferred.

She was finishing off making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when Killian returned. The backpack slung over his shoulder was new, but she already knew what would be in it: sunscreen, a towel, a book, and the big, soft picnic blanket he preferred to relax on.

He stopped short of the kitchen, staring at her. “What?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Sorry. I just experienced the strangest of feelings.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly. “Do you need any help?”

“Nope, just finishing.” She fished out two sandwich-sized plastic containers from the first drawer she checked (man, she could  _ still _ predict where he’d put them in a brand new kitchen—was that weird?), put a sandwich in each, and tossed them into the cooler.

The walk to the beach was the same, in a way that she found relaxing. For all that the house was different, there was still a door from the back that opened up to the path. Never mind that the old wooden door had been replaced by a glass sliding one, or that there was now a little patio right outside before the path started. She focused on just the path, leading down to the shore.

Emma had been to the beach plenty of times over the past ten years. There were some beaches near Boston, and after a lifetime of living in Vacationland, she hadn’t been able to just  _ not _ go to the beach during the summer. And she and Graham’s first trip away together had been to the Cape, a lovely, relaxing weekend where they’d done almost nothing except swim in the ocean, tan on the beach, and make love at all hours.

Would Graham even want to come up here? The thought of him being here, on  _ this _ beach, felt oddly bizarre. This wasn’t just some random beach on the North Shore, or a beach near a rented cottage. This was  _ Killian’s _ beach. (Well, it wasn’t  _ his _ beach; it wasn’t actually private property, but since other stretches were more easily publicly accessible, they rarely saw anyone else. But it wasn’t  _ his _ beach.)

“All right, love?” They’d stopped, and Killian was laying out the blanket.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, just thinking.”

“Ah.”

Outside of his renovated house, everything was starting to bleed into the past. She was sitting with him on his beach on the blanket they always sat on, with a cooler of snacks, and good lord it was like no time had passed. She gulped in a hasty breath of the ocean air and tried to ground herself. She was Emma Swan, she was engaged to Graham Humbert, and everything was different now.

She just had to get through this one last task. Time to butter him up so it would hurt less. She turned to him as he got settled down with a book. “Any good?” she asked. He’d always had great taste in books.

“Hm?”

“Your book.”

“Oh—yes, so far. I’ve never read this author before, but she came highly recommended.”

“Oh yeah? Maybe I should write it down.”

“Here.” He held up the book so she could take a photo with her phone. “How about you? Have you been reading anything lately?”

“Yeah, I just started this one.” She pulled her book out of her bag, glancing guiltily at the folder of paperwork that was wedged in next to it. “I’m, like, only  _ pages _ into it, but I really like it so far.” He stared at the cover for a second, like he thought she was joking. “What? What is it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I thought the author’s named was familiar for a moment.”

“K.L. Barrie?” She chuckled. “Probably not. This guy is brand new.”

“Is that so? How did you come across his work then?”

“Is that supposed to be a dig at my reading preferences or something?”

“No, I just meant—recommendation? Amazon? I’m just curious.”

He seemed to be asking honestly. “Well, it’s … so there’s a … friend of mine, and  _ they _ have a friend who’s in this novel-writing workshop to try to get his book better so he can publish it. The program’s pretty cool and a lot of people who go through it do get published, so I think it’ll work out for him—but anyway, whenever someone who’s done the workshop gets published, they try to promote each other’s work and stuff. So he recommended this to my friend, which is how I found out about it.”

“That’s really fascinating,” Killian replied. “Did your friend enjoy it?”

She chuckled. “He hasn’t read it yet. I kind of stole it from him first.” Not that it was likely Graham would get around to it; he wasn’t much of a reader. It was just really easy for August to convince him to buy copies of his friends’ books, and even easier for Emma to snag them from the bookshelf afterwards.

“Ah.” He smiled, and his smile was just  _ so sad. _ Why was he so sad? How could a book make him sad? He  _ loved _ reading, so—

“So, when were you going to tell me about him?” he asked.

Her heart sank.  _ He hasn’t read it yet. I kind of stole it from him first. _ She could deny it, but … what was the point?

She sighed. “Killian—”

He held up his prosthesis. “Emma, stop. It’s been ten years since you and I have spoken. I admit that I wasn’t … I wasn’t sure what brought you to my doorstep today, but given what we’ve been through, I knew it couldn’t have possibly been because you desired … reconciliation.”

The way he said it hurt. Like she somehow had magically stopped caring about him, like  _ that _ was why she’d left all those years ago. But he was right: she hadn’t shown up to mend things. Or even be friends again. Hell, she would have avoided seeing him altogether if she could have. So, might as well get it over with.

She pulled the paperwork out of her bag. “I’m sorry, Killian.”

“It’s all right,” he replied gently, taking the folder from her, and balancing it on his lap as he fished through his bag for a pen. “I’m—I’m glad you were able to open your heart up to someone, after everything that happened.”

“I didn’t think I could,” she admitted. “I never thought I’d need to do this.”

“Aye.” He froze. “‘Emma  _ Swan.’” _

“Ugh, look, I—”

“Right,” he said gruffly. “No, I understand.” They sat silently as he signed where there were Xs, and then he wordlessly handed the paperwork back to her.

“Thank you, Killian.”

“Of course. What sort of person would I be if I refused?” His voice was flat and emotionless.

“I mean … still …”

“Right, well. Anyway. It was nice to see you … Swan.”

She knew a dismissal when she heard one.

She knew, as she walked back down the path, taking a right at the fork so she could go straight back to her parents’ house instead of back to his, that she should be more sorry for him than for herself. She knew that he’d probably stay out on the beach too long, forgetting to reapply sunscreen and letting himself burn, eventually returning to his house and throwing out the uneaten food from the cooler. She knew that it was unfair for her to show up after a decade of no contact, and just hand him divorce papers, with no explanation for why she’d even left in the first place.

But all she could think about was how upsetting it was that he’d called her  _ Swan,  _ like he didn’t know her at all anymore. Like she was a stranger.

Her heart felt sick: for all he knew, that was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story, and I'd love to know what you think!


	4. Chapter Three

Emma was relieved that her parents didn’t ask her about her morning when she came back so much earlier than expected. They acted as though nothing unusual had happened, that she was home right when they thought she would be, and they didn’t ask her how things had gone when she’d served Killian the papers.

In fact, if Emma hadn’t known any better, she’d have thought that maybe they didn’t feel one way or the other about the situation. She would have thought they were just happy to have her home, and happy to hear she was successful and engaged and doing so well down in Boston.

But then, as she was relaxing on the back porch, finishing off the first chapter of the novel she’d brought to the beach, Mom stuck her head out and asked her to pick up Granny’s for dinner. And  _ that’s _ how she knew they were upset with her.

Granny’s Diner was, if anything, the central institution of Storybrooke. It wasn’t the  _ only _ place in town to get a bite to eat, or to grab a beer, or stay the night, but people often treated it like it was. And because of that, Granny’s Diner was like Patient Zero of the virus that was Storybrooke’s gossip.

Anything seen or said in the diner would soon be known throughout the whole town, and the only way to keep something a secret was to make sure it didn’t get spoken aloud anywhere on the premises. And that, somehow, was impossible; eventually, everyone found out  _ everything. _

It was how Neal had found out that his dad was having an affair with the barely legal librarian. It was how Walter had learned he was getting fired from the hospital for falling asleep on the job. It was how the whole town learned that Emma had been arrested for accessory to theft.

Her parents’ house was far enough off the beaten path that no one would see her car unless they came to visit; she’d probably driven in late enough last night that no one had seen her in the first place. She didn’t care if people saw her leave tomorrow; she hoped they wouldn’t, but it wasn’t like she was ever coming back.

But if she had to go to Granny’s to pick up food, then the secret would be out that she was back. Everyone would know. And even if she was leaving in a day, it still meant one day where  _ everyone _ knew she was back.

This was her punishment, she thought as she drove to the center of town. This was her punishment for running away, and her punishment for divorcing Killian. Great.

The person working the register was new and definitely young enough that they didn’t know who she was. And so for one beautiful moment, as she told the kid she was here to pick up an order for the Nolans, she wondered if she might just get away with remaining unseen.

“Is that  _ Emma Nolan?” _

Nope.

Ruby Lucas, granddaughter of Granny herself and former high school classmate, came running out of the back office. “Oh my  _ god, _ it  _ is _ you!”

“Hi, Ruby.”

“Oh, all I get is a ‘Hi, Ruby?’ Nice try.” She practically leapt over the counter and enveloped Emma in a massive hug; her perfume was just as strong as it used to be. “What are you  _ doing _ here?” She gasped in delight. “Are you and Killian back together? You are, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m just—I wanted to visit my parents.”

Ruby didn’t seem to buy it. “That’s it? You break ten years of just about no contact just like that?” Emma shrugged. “But does Killian know you’re back?”

“Yeah, he knows.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “You are  _ just _ as closed up as you used to be. How did he react to seeing you? I mean, it’s been ten years, girl! You’re telling me he didn’t react at all to his ex-wife being back in town?”

_ Ex _ -wife? Well, Emma wasn’t about to correct  _ that _ mistake; if the town thought she and Killian had already officially divorced, that would make this go a lot easier. “We saw each other briefly this morning, and I think he was about as happy to see his ex-wife as anyone would be.”

That seemed to get through to Ruby at least. “Well, yeah, I guess that makes sense. But oh! Where have you  _ been? _ You’ve missed so much stuff!”

“Uh, yeah.” Great, the gossip train was pulling into the station. Was the food ready yet?

“Yeah! Oh my god, Emma.” Ruby grabbed her hand and pulled her to a booth. “Like, Mayor Spencer retired in disgrace after you left!”

Whoa, that was—no, she wasn’t going to get suckered into this!

“And then Neal’s dad took over for a while, but even though no one could prove it, everyone just  _ knew _ he was corrupt.”

Not shocking; the guy was always a bit slippery and creepy, and—no, no, no gossip!

“But you won’t  _ believe _ who’s mayor now.”

“Ruby, I—”

“Regina Mills.”

“Whoa, whoa—what?” Ruby nodded sagely.

Regina Mills. Damn.

Liam Jones’ former girlfriend was mayor. It was a good thing Emma was leaving tomorrow; she couldn’t imagine that Regina would be happy to see her. And if Regina also happened to be  _ mayor? _ Jesus, she needed to get out of here!

“Nolan, order up!” came the call from the register.

“Oh, thank god,” Emma whispered under her breath, sliding out of the booth as quickly as she could.

“Oh, don’t think you’re getting away  _ that _ easily,” Ruby warned. “You and me. Tomorrow. Twelve o’clock. Lunch. And I  _ will _ show up at your house if you try to stand me up.”

“Fine, bye.” Emma grabbed the to-go bag and fled. It wasn’t  _ that _ late in the evening, right? Maybe she could leave tonight instead. Even if she didn’t get home till midnight or later, she’d have tomorrow to sleep in.

_ Anything _ to avoid lunch tomorrow at Granny’s. By then, the  _ whole _ town would know she was back, and at least half of them would know she was going to be showing up at the diner at noon. Regina definitely would drop by to glare at her; Neal’s dad might pop in as well, just to give her that awkward, creepy, appraising look he always had.

Her parents threw her guilty looks as soon as she opened the door. “What?” she asked. She held up the giant paper bag of food. “I got dinner, just like you asked.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dad said, grabbing the bag from her and carrying it to the kitchen table.

“Is … something wrong?” Why did they look so sheepish?

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dad replied, sounding way too peppy. Mom threw her another guilty look.

Oh. They probably felt bad about sending her to Granny’s. Maybe she could use that to her advantage? “Okay. Well, I was thinking, I might leave after dinner.”

“What?” Mom asked, dropping one of the paper napkins she’d been laying out on the table. “Why? You just got here!”

“I thought you were here for the weekend,” Dad said.

“I mean, that was the plan, but now I went into town and … well … everyone saw me.” She swallowed hard. God, this sounded so pathetic! What kind of adult woman—a  _ cop _ no less—was so upset about people knowing she was in town? “Regina’s going to know I was here,” she said quickly, hoping that would help make them understand.

“It’s supposed to rain tonight,” Mom said firmly. “We can’t let you drive in the rain. You can leave tomorrow after lunch.”

“But—”  _ then I’ll have to have lunch with Ruby, _ she meant to finish.

“No,” Mom said. “You can leave after lunch.” She leveled a very firm glare at her. “Emma Ruth, you have been gone for ten of the longest years of my life, and I’ll be damned if I only get twenty-four hours with you. Do you understand?”

She sighed. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Mom began to pull dinner out of the bag. “Let’s eat.”

* * *

As much as she’d been dreading it, lunch went better than Emma could have expected.

It didn’t go  _ well, _ she thought. Regina walked in halfway through the meal,  _ supposedly _ to get some to-go coffee, but Emma knew it was to stare her down. And stare her down she  _ did; _ it took all of Emma’s training and experience as a cop to stare back and not flinch. Ten years did nothing to make Regina Mills less intimidating, and neither did the power suit she wore.

“Oh, relax,” Ruby said once the mayor had left. “It’s not like she can  _ do _ anything to you.” Too bad it didn’t  _ feel _ that way.

Throughout the meal, plenty of other townsfolk walked in, pretended to have some kind of business at Granny’s, and then left after a couple minutes. It was blatantly obvious that they just wanted to see for themselves that Emma had returned. Granny herself didn’t seem to care about the loss of any legitimate business with all these people coming in for a few minutes and leaving without buying anything. She just gave Emma a curt nod and went back into the office.

Meanwhile, Emma got to endure the force that was Ruby Lucas Brimming with Gossip. Against her will, she had to hear everything that had happened over the past decade in Storybrooke.

There was the continuing saga of Neal’s dad’s affair; apparently the barely legal librarian had actually  _ married _ Mr. Gold, but  _ then _ they’d divorced,  _ then _ secretly gotten back together, and  _ then _ remarried. There was Leroy, who kept getting fired from every job he could find, thanks to his temper; apparently, the whole town felt bad for him and there was always someone to hire (or rehire) him.

She got to hear about Regina’s weird flirtation with both the head of the parks department  _ and _ the head of the treasury department, neither of which could go anywhere without some kind of scandal. She got to hear about which residents had been seeking therapy, although mercifully, the local psychologist Dr. Hopper seemed to actually adhere to doctor-patient confidentiality. But then again, Dr. Whale at Storybrooke General very clearly  _ didn’t _ because Ruby seemed to know  _ just _ who had which STD.

It might have all been manageable or bearable to let the gossip wash over her. But then she got to hear all about little Ashley, a girl who’d been a couple years behind them in school. Ruby told her all about how Ashley had gotten knocked up at the end of high school and married the baby’s dad. She told the whole story in great, lurid detail, and it didn’t seem like she realized just how close to home the story was hitting, until she said—almost dismissively— “Oh, but she kept it.”

That was the last straw for Emma. She had to get out of here.

Almost on cue, her phone rang. She’d only just given her parents her phone number last night, as part of a promise to stay in touch better, and somehow, Mom knew the right moment to call and help her get out of this miserable lunch date. “Hi, Mom,” she said, trying to sound cheery. “Do you need me to come home?”  _ Please say yes, _ she thought.

“Hospital!” Mom said.

“What?”

“We’re on our way to the hospital! It’s your father!”

“Oh my god!” Holy shit! “Oh my god, is he okay?” Ruby seemed to understand something serious was going on, and she leaned back with concerned expression on her face.

“He broke his leg or his ankle or something—it’s  _ really _ bad! Just meet us there!”

“Shit, okay! Okay, I’ll be right there!” Her hands shook as she tried to end the call. “Ruby, I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay! Do you need me to drive you?”

“No, I’m good to drive.” She was shaking, but not any more than she had been the first time she’d had to drive to the scene of a shooting in progress. “I’m—okay, yeah.” She had to consciously remind herself that she had stood up to go to the hospital, and that she hadn’t started moving yet.

Right. Hospital. Storybrooke General.

She hadn’t been to Storybrooke General since—

_ Nope.  _ Not thinking about  _ that. _

Not when her dad was injured and she needed to be able to deal with it.

She arrived in the waiting room after they’d already wheeled Dad into surgery. Mom and Killian were sitting next to each other in uncomfortable hospital chairs as a doctor addressed Killian.

All at once, Emma felt like she was intruding on someone  _ else’s _ family emergency.

All these years, she’d wondered if her parents had kept in touch with Killian, and the past day had made it unbelievably clear that the answer was a resounding  _ hell yes. _ The photos of him all over the house and their protectiveness of him had been major clues. But if she hadn’t been sure already, the scene in front of her solidified it.

Here was Killian, his arm around Mom, comforting her, as he nodded at the doctor and listened to information about Dad’s condition. The doctor was treating him like family, like  _ he _ was their kid, while their  _ real _ kid was standing over here, staring awkwardly at the scene in front of her, wondering if she was even supposed to be here.

Maybe she  _ shouldn’t. _

Emma Nolan—hell, even Emma  _ Jones _ belonged here.  _ That _ Emma would be standing in front of both Mom and Killian, arms crossed, angrily demanding that the doctor clarify something or give her more information. She would be sending Killian on some errand, making him get coffee or reading material or snacks or something, because she’d know that he would need something to do to stop from feeling useless. She would sit next to Mom and alternate between reassuring her about the quality of the hospital, and making derisive comments about staff incompetence.

But Emma Swan just stood there, wondering if she should leave, unsure of how to even talk to her own mother, unsure of how to even  _ sit _ next to Killian.

But then they spotted her, and Mom immediately stood and rushed over, enveloping her in a hug. “Oh, I’m  _ so _ glad you’re here, Emma!”

“Me, too.” And for the first time all weekend, it was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this update, and I'd love to know what you think! See you next Thursday!


	5. Chapter Four

The house was too quiet. Dad’s hospital room had a reclining chair, which Mom insisted on sleeping in so she could stay overnight. He was  _ fine, _ he kept saying—just groggy from surgery and Vicodin, and still in a lot of pain. But Mom wanted to stay, which meant she was  _ staying, _ and there was no point in arguing. So Emma went home to an empty house.

She settled into Dad’s recliner, its squishiness and scent reminding her of him and comforting her, and picked up her phone.

“Emma? Is everything okay? I thought you’d be home by now.”

“Hey, Graham,” she said a little weakly. “Uh, no, actually. I’m still in Maine. That’s why I’m calling.”

“Are you okay?”

She took in a shaky breath. “I’m okay. My dad had a bad accident today, and he’s in the hospital.”

“What? Emma, I’m so sorry! Is he all right?”

“He will be. He was in surgery for a while—compound ankle fracture. And at his age, it’s going to take even longer to heal.”

“Still.”

“Yeah, still. My mom is freaking out about it. She’s staying in the hospital with him tonight, and she’s got a substitute for the next week, but I just …”

“You need to stay up there,” he said firmly.

“Yeah? I mean, I was thinking I probably should.”

“You should. Arthur will get it; I can talk to him if you want me to.”

“No, it’s okay, I was about to give him a call. Maybe just a week, to make sure they’re both okay.”

“I don’t think anyone would argue with you over that, considering you’ve never taken so much as a sick day in three years.”

She chuckled. It was true; it hadn’t ever been about her work ethic so much as it had been about refusing to give anyone an excuse to check into her background. She’d been that way when she’d been waitressing as well. Work your ass off and no one will ever know you have a record, or that you have a weird history, or that your last name isn’t your original last name. They’ll just accept who you say you are at face value.

“Do you want me to come up?” Graham asked. “I’m sure I could at least take a few days off. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Honestly …”

“Right, probably not the best time. Plus, you’d be stressed over trying to take care of your dad and keep your mum sane, while also making sure we all get along.”

“Yeah, exactly.” She sighed. “But it’s okay, I’ll see you soon.”

While she was on the phone with Arthur, who was more than happy to give her the week off, even on short notice, there was a knock at the door. She quickly thanked him before ending the call and getting up to answer it.

It was Killian, looking absolutely miserable. “Hi,” he said hoarsely. “Can I come in?”

“Uh, sure.” She gestured for him to come in. He threw himself down on the couch, letting out a long sigh at the same time. “So?”

“So?” he asked, confused.

“So, why are you here?” He snorted at her, and she shook her head. “No, not like—okay, I know it’s stupid for me of all people to ask. Just, it’s not like the people you’d actually  _ want _ to see are here.”

“I know I was angry yesterday, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you at all,” he replied. “To be quite honest, I didn’t want to be alone right now, and certainly not in my own house.”

She dropped back into Dad’s recliner, considering the comment; if the two of them had been in an interrogation room instead of a living room, those words would have raised a ton of red flags. “Why not in your own house?”

He glanced up at her sheepishly. “This happened at my house.”

“Whoa, what?” All they’d told her was that Dad had fallen off a ladder. “Why was he at your house?”

“He was helping me with the renovations.” She was about to point out that the renovations were _done,_ but he obviously knew what she’d been about to say. “Upstairs, darling. Upstairs. I’ve been doing one floor at a time.”

“Oh.” She stared at her lap. “I’d just kind of assumed that you came into a bunch of money and had the whole thing done at once.”

“Aye, your HGTV comment. Alas, I’ve spent the last several years saving money and gradually making changes. I was hoping to be done by the end of the year, but it’s been slow going.”

She noticed him nervously twisting his fingers around the tip of his prosthesis. “You need another set of hands,” she said.

“Aye.”

She let out a slow breath, not sure of what else to say. Dad had basically broken the shit out of his ankle, all while helping Killian renovate his house. Knowing Killian, he probably thought the whole situation was entirely his fault, like somehow he would have been able to convince Dad  _ not _ to help or something. No wonder he didn’t want to be home alone tonight.

“Well,” she said finally, “it’s been a long day.”

“Aye,” he repeated, sounding disappointed.

“You can sleep on the couch, I guess. I mean, if you don’t want to go home.”

He gave her an odd stare, like she’d sprouted a second head or said something totally boneheaded. But whatever it was that was bothering him, he didn’t say. He just said, “Thank you.”

By the time she finished up in the bathroom and stole a glance into the living room, he was lying on the couch, under two throw blankets, and appearing asleep as far as she could tell.

Just a week. She just had to get through a week. A week to make sure Mom and Dad were okay. A week of being awkward around Killian. Then she could just go  _ home _ and get away.

* * *

A week later, when she should have been ready to get the fuck out of Storybrooke, Emma was feeling …  _ weird. _

“This is ridiculous,” Dad said as Mom brought him another glass of water. “I don’t  _ need _ another week off! I feel great!”

“David, your body still needs to heal,” Mom said sternly. “If you go back to work now, you’re just going to set your recovery back. Just save everyone the trouble and stay home.”

“I’m  _ fine,” _ he said firmly, before throwing a couple of painkillers in his mouth and washing them down with the water he’d just been handed.

“Dave, you know she’s right,” Killian said, not looking up from his laptop. “And we all  _ know _ you know she’s right.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Dad challenged. “I’d like to see you try to keep me here.”

“I might only have one hand, but you’ve currently only got one leg, mate. I’d say we’re evenly matched.”

Emma frowned at the scene before heading down the hallway, slipping into her bedroom, and shutting the door behind her. She flopped down onto the bed with a sigh.

The week had been hell.

It wasn’t  _ just _ that Dad was cranky (although  _ damn, _ was he cranky). It was that she’d been so insistent on cutting ties with her past that she’d never actually considered the consequences of trying to reconnect. Honestly, she’d just assumed she’d never  _ want _ to.

And now that she  _ kind of _ wanted to? Her parents had basically replaced her with Killian. As soon as Dad had been released from the hospital, it had become crystal clear that the Nolans had one child, and that child was not Emma.

(And, well, of  _ course _ it wasn’t Emma because their kid had been Emma Nolan, and she was Emma Swan.)

Killian was constantly at the house. He helped Mom cook, he seemed to almost unconsciously tidy up anywhere he went, and he kept track of Dad’s meds. He sat in the living room with Dad and watched TV with him and helped distract him from the pain in his ankle. Any time Emma offered to do something around the house, Killian was either doing it or had just done it.

He was even still  _ working _ the whole time; he wrote for the  _ Storybrooke Mirror _ and even when he needed to talk to someone for a story, it was easy for him to just go out on the porch and make a few phone calls. He was even sleeping on the couch, and Emma knew that if she hadn’t shown up out of the blue, he’d have been crashing in her room.

And whenever they were alone, when Mom was out of earshot and Dad was asleep, he’d call her  _ Swan. _

Her phone beeped, and she dug it out of her pocket. It was a text from Graham:  _ Can’t wait to see you tonight. _

She sighed.

It should be easy, right?

She hadn’t come back to town for reconciliation. She’d come back specifically so she could move forward with her life. She was Emma Swan, a Boston cop who was engaged to marry Graham Humbert, one of her colleagues. She loved her life in the city,  _ so much _ so that she’d been willing to face everything she’d run away from just to make that life happen.

Everything she’d seen this week had made it clear that her parents didn’t need her. They had Killian instead. And Killian certainly didn’t want her around. Emma could leave, and everyone—herself included—would have the family they wanted to have. She’d left Storybrooke for a reason, and coming back would ruin that.

What she should do was get her clothes out of the dryer in an hour, pack her duffel bag, say goodbye to her parents, and drive home to Boston. She should get back to her apartment, shower and change, and meet Graham for dinner after his shift. She should wake up bright and early tomorrow morning and head to the station, ready for another day on the job.

She dialed the precinct.

“Saxon.”

“Sir? It’s Swan.”

“Ah, Emma, how’s your father doing?”

“Well, sir, he’s the local sheriff and he’s going to be on desk duty for the next few months, so …”

Arthur chuckled. “I can imagine he’s none too pleased about that, then. So, do you need another day or two? We might be able to swing that, but I’m not sure. I think we might need to—”

“Actually, Captain,” she said, taking in a huge breath, “I was thinking of … something else.”

Ten minutes later, heart in her throat, she texted Graham— _ We have to talk during dinner tonight, it’s very important— _ and headed back into the living room.

The scene was as she’d left it: Dad was flipping through channels, Killian was tapping away at his laptop, and Mom was working on her lesson plan. Here they were, the perfect, happy little family: Mom, Pop, and Son. If they’d heard her half of the phone conversation, they weren’t letting it show.

She cleared her throat, and they all looked up at her questioningly.

“Dad, I’d like to apply for a job as a deputy in your department.”

“Whoa, what?” Dad asked, leaning back even further in his chair in surprise.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mom said, standing up so quickly from her chair that she knocked it over. “You’re staying? Emma, are you staying?”

“Well, do I have a job?” she asked, realizing that maybe Dad  _ wouldn’t _ be cool with the situation.

“Sweetheart, get over here,” Dad said, waving her towards him. She stepped over to him and was immediately enveloped in one of the most awkward hugs she’d ever experienced. “Of  _ course _ you’ve got a job.” He pulled back, and she could see his eyes shiny with tears. “I mean, Lance is still in charge while I’m out—sheriff’s an elected position and all, so I can’t just—”

She interrupted him with a laugh. “Dad, it’s fine, deputy’s fine.”

She couldn’t even turn around before Mom was hugging her. “I’m just—oh, honey, I’m so happy you’re staying!”

“Me, too.” Well, she wasn’t sure  _ what _ emotions she was feeling right now, but happiness was in there somewhere. “I do have to go back to Boston, obviously. Temporarily, I mean, since all my stuff’s there. So I’m still going to head down tonight.”

“Do you want to take the truck?” Dad asked.

“Um, yeah, actually, that should help.” Oh god, she was going to have to buy boxes on her way back. And tape, and bubble wrap. She’d have to talk to her landlord. But she’d already quit her job; there was no going back.

“Is Graham coming with you?” Mom asked. “Because if he is, he can stay here with us while you find an apartment; we don’t mind if he’s bunking with you, I mean, you  _ are _ an adult.”

She swallowed hard. “I think we’re going to do long distance for a while, actually. But I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. That’s—well, you know, there’s no rush to find an apartment even if he  _ does _ come with you,” Mom continued. “You can stay here for as long as you want.”

“Thanks. So, I should head out now, there’s a lot to get done.”

“Right, right. Oh, this is so exciting!”

Mom insisted on packing her a lunch to eat on the road (“No more of that greasy rest stop fast food, and  _ yes, _ I  _ do _ expect you to pack yourself something healthy on the way back up”), and Dad got so tuckered out from the excitement that he needed a nap. And that’s how Emma found herself on the front porch with Killian as she tossed her bag into the cab of Dad’s truck.

“So,” he said slowly. “You’re moving back.” It was the first time he’d spoken since she’d made her announcement.

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

“Quite a rash decision, Swan.”

“It was the best decision,” she countered. “I get to make up for lost time with my parents, and with me at the sheriff’s station, it’ll make things easier for Dad as he recovers. Who cares how long it took me to make the decision if it was the right one?”

“Sometimes,” he said, almost glaring at her, “it’s hard to know if you’ve made the right decision if you make it so hurriedly. Sometimes, what’s best for you  _ isn’t _ what’s best for everyone else. Sometimes, a decision  _ can’t _ be the right decision if you don’t need time to think about it.”

“What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

He sighed. “Nothing, Swan. Welcome back to Storybrooke.” And with that, he turned and went back into the house, letting the screen door slam shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this update, and I'd love to hear what you think!


	6. Chapter Five

Emma picked at her food as Graham stared at her. “No wonder the captain was giving me such wide berth today,” he commented.

“Graham.”

“Emma, you should have talked to me first.”

“You were working,” she pointed out. “You were working, and I knew that this would turn into a discussion when it really  _ couldn’t _ be a discussion.”

“We’re engaged,” he reminded her. “We need to talk about these things together, make huge decisions like this together.”

“Not this time,” she said, trying to stay patient. “Look, I know this is a lot, okay? So can I just … tell you some things and hope that I can explain myself?”

He sighed. “All right. Of course.”

She took in a steadying breath. “I know I’ve always kept my past pretty hush-hush, and I really appreciate that you’re so respectful of that. The thing is, I ran away when I was eighteen. I was turning into the town screw-up, basically: like, it was headline news in our tiny town that the sheriff’s daughter kept getting in trouble. And  _ seriously, _ if you think gossip spreads like wildfire in the precinct, Storybrooke is like that but exponentially worse.”

She swallowed nervously. “So I ran away. Like, packed my clothes and a few sentimental belongings, all the money I had, and a bunch of money I’d stolen—petty theft and all that. And I just got in my car and drove and drove until I was nowhere near Storybrooke.

“I knew my parents loved me—I know they  _ still _ love me—and my dad’s a cop, so I was afraid they’d come try to find me and drag me back. So I changed my last name and did everything I could to keep them from knowing anything about where I was or what I was doing. I had this weird fear of them just showing up, throwing me into my dad’s truck, and dragging me back there.” Graham chuckled a little, and she felt some of the tension ease.

“What was your last name, then?” he asked gently.

“Nolan.”

“Nolan,” he repeated. He smiled kindly. “I like it. I like Swan better.”

God, he was taking this really well. “Anyway, ten years of almost no contact with them, and I got used to it. But going back up last weekend, and then spending all this time with them …”

“You miss them,” he supplied. “Emma, I understand.”

“You do?”

“Well, I suppose in your shoes, I’d just try to visit them on weekends,” he admitted. “As opposed to relocating entirely. But yes, I do understand.”

“I know it’s a huge thing to ask,” she said, reaching out to take his hand. “But I think it’s just something I really need to do.”

“How about this?” he asked. “We do long-distance for now and see how it goes. You stay up there until your father has recovered, and that’ll give you a chance to see if you want to stay there permanently. If you do, then maybe I’ll take a leave of absence from the department and come up for a trial period.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he replied firmly. God, he was just  _ way _ too good to her. “Now, let’s finish up here; you’ve an awful lot of packing to do, and I think I know a strong, strapping young man who can assist you.”

“Is that so?” she asked with a grin. “Well, I don’t know  _ how _ you managed to recruit Chris Evans to help me pack, but I really do owe you one.”

“Well,” he said, grinning in spite of how his comment had backfired, “at least I know which movie star Chris is your favorite.”

“Yeah, at least.” She couldn’t stop smiling. “Graham?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

He was making it so easy; Killian’s angry words faded away completely from her mind. This would work.

* * *

Emma let out a shriek of irritation as she slammed her bedroom door behind her. Luckily, her parents weren’t home—Mom had taken Dad to physical therapy—so they weren’t around to chide her for doing it.

Of course,  _ that _ didn’t work at all. The damn door didn’t have  lock, so sure enough, Killian practically burst in right afterwards. “Get out of my room!” Emma shouted.

“You can’t just cut me off mid-discussion, Swan!” he shouted back.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a discussion!  _ Discussion _ implies that there’s room for negotiation!”

He laughed derisively. “Aye, I suppose you’re right—there’s nothing to negotiate as I’ve already purchased the ingredients for your father’s birthday supper  _ and _ dessert.”

“Without  _ asking _ me!”

“We do this  _ every _ year, Swan—”

“Um, maybe since I  _ left, _ but—”

“Right, since you  _ left,” _ he repeated angrily.

“Well, I’m _back!”_ she reminded him. “I’m back, and Dad loves Tony’s, so we’re going to Tony’s! I’ve already special ordered the cake!”

“Then you’d better hope your deposit is refundable!”

“Get out of my room!” Like  _ hell _ was she letting him get away with this, but how  _ dare _ he follow her in here? “You don’t even live here! Why are you  _ here _ all the damn time!”

“Well,  _ one _ of us has to help your parents—”

“Me! I live here! You  _ don’t! _ And for the  _ last time, _ get out of my damn room!”

With a huff and a dark glare, Killian finally left, slamming the door as he went. She fell back on her bed; was there something she could tear up or break that didn’t matter? She just needed to  _ break _ something! She was  _ so _ angry.

Three months—three months, and it was pure  _ torture. _ There were spats like this constantly—about the best way to help Dad with his recovery, or help Mom handle household stuff in the meantime. She couldn’t go five minutes without fighting over something as pointless as whether or not they should buy orange juice with or without pulp (who the fuck would buy it  _ with _ pulp, Killian?!).

And it wasn’t even like she could talk to Graham about it. She still hadn’t even told him about Killian. How do you tell your fiancé about your ex-best friend who also happened to be your ex-husband? That was an awkward enough conversation  _ without _ also having to explain the absurd situation she’d found herself in.

Specifically, that the ex-best-friend-slash-ex-husband had basically been adopted by her parents while she’d been away, and since announcing her return to Storybrooke, he’d practically moved in. Three months in, even with Dad almost recovered, Killian  _ still _ slept on the couch every night, and his toiletries lived next to hers in the guest bathroom. And now, he was trying to push her out of the family or something … totally  _ crazy _ like that.

Maybe she needed a therapist.

But either way, this wasn’t something that she could talk to Graham about. He didn’t need to know that he was going to marry someone with a ridiculously competitive streak, or that the person she was competing with was more than just a former friend. Nope, he didn’t need to know  _ any  _ of that.

She’d just have to make sure that Killian got the hell out of her family before Graham moved up here.

_ If _ Graham moved up here.

He was still torn about it. Three months of being long distance, and he was still on the fence. She got it to an extent; living in Boston was a far cry from living in the middle of nowhere, Maine. He wouldn’t just be swapping urban life for suburban; he’d be going full on backwoods rural, moving into the land of the slowest right-hand turns ever, and towns small enough that everyone knew everyone else’s business.

And right now, there were no jobs. Regina was still furious that Dad had pushed for Emma to join the department and had made it clear that he couldn’t have any more deputies without firing someone (and she strongly implied that Emma should be the one fired if that were the case). She kept an eye out for openings in departments in other towns and cities, but so far, nothing had popped up. Until something did, Graham was staying put.

And until she had her own place, he couldn’t really visit. Mom had been serious when she said that Graham could stay in the house with them, but it was just  _ such _ a tiny house. The two bedrooms were directly next to each other with walls thin enough that Emma had heard some things over the years that she’d give anything to unhear. Besides the bedrooms, there was just the tiny kitchen, the dining room, and the living room. That wasn’t really enough space for five people.

Or  _ four _ people. Something that she desperately wished Killian would figure out. But  _ nope. _

Once the adrenaline from the fight with Killian had worn off, she must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, there was a soft knock on the door. “Emma, sweetie?” Mom and Dad were back from physical therapy.

“Come in.” She pushed herself into a sitting position as Mom slipped into the room. “How was PT?”

“Oh, it was fine. Your father’s so motivated to get back to normal, his therapist says he’s one of the most diligent patients he’s ever had.”

“That’s great.”

“Mmhmm. So, Killian said you two had a fight.”

Emma grimaced; what a tattle tale! “It’s not a big deal, Mom.”

“Well, maybe not.” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “But either way, we obviously have a decision to make about your dad’s birthday.”

Emma sighed. “Look, it’s fine, I can cancel Tony’s. Since you guys have  _ traditions _ and stuff.”

“Emma,” Mom said sternly.

“Mom, it’s  _ fine. _ I  _ get _ it. You guys are still upset at me for leaving, so Killian’s trying to make me back off and stop making changes.”

“You think  _ that’s _ what’s going on?”

“Well … I mean, yeah?”

“Maybe you’re right that Killian is trying to keep you from making changes, but it’s not because we’re upset at you.”

Emma sighed and wrapped her arms around her legs. “You’re my parents,” she said. “You’re not  _ allowed _ to tell me if you’re upset.”

“Right, because since when did I ever bullshit you like that?” It was unusual to hear Mom swear, which got Emma’s attention. “Look, did it hurt that you were gone for so long? Yes, it did. Yes, it  _ still _ does.” Mom shifted and reached for Emma’s hand. “But you’re our  _ daughter. _ We’re your  _ parents. _ Loving you comes with the job. Loving you no matter what.”

Emma shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, what if I murdered a bunch of kids or something?” she muttered.

“Oh, stop it. Needing to get away from Storybrooke and figure out who you are is not akin to  _ child murder. _ You know, you get that kind of hyperbole from your father.” Emma couldn’t help but smile a bit at the comment. “Anyway, yes, sometimes Dad and I will be reminded of how much we’ve missed you, and we might have some sadness in our expressions. But what matters to us right now is that you’re  _ back. _ You’re  _ home. _ And when we needed you, you were here for us—sweetheart, you  _ quit your job _ to come help when Dad broke his ankle.”

Emma wanted to point out that it was the  _ least _ she could do. She wanted to admit that she’d also kind of done it because she couldn’t stand to see Killian forcing her out. But she couldn’t really find the words to say any of it without sounding like she didn’t love her parents.

“Now, I’ve talked with Dad, and we’ve already sorted out this whole birthday mess.”

“Mom, I could have handled it!”  _ Great, _ they were back to  _ this. _

“Well, it was easier this way. I’ve already called and canceled the cake—you know Tony doesn’t mind, and he already refunded the deposit on your credit card. But we’re still going to go there for dinner, and then we’ll come home for cake.”

“Cake that Killian is baking,” she grumbled.

“Yes, cake that Killian is baking.” Mom frowned. “You  _ do _ get what’s going on, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“And just what do you think that is?”

Emma opened her mouth before realizing  _ Killian replaced me as your child _ was a really, really stupid thing to say. She closed it again and shrugged. “I guess I don’t.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ve gotta get started on dinner. Chicken tonight.”

“Okay. I have to eat quickly; I’ve got patrol duty.”

“Right, Dad told me.”

Patrol wasn’t the only reason to eat quickly. Throughout dinner, Killian kept glaring at her and making snide remarks. It was almost uncanny how he was able to be so derisive without Mom and Dad seeming to notice he was being … well,  _ mean. _ It took everything Emma had to avoid lashing out at him.

What was his  _ problem? _ She’d lost, too—even if her deposit for the cake was getting refunded, Killian still got to show off his cake-making-and-decorating prowess. And Mom was going on about how he could make his stupid gourmet meal  _ tomorrow _ night, and that they would all love it.

Ugh!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story, and I'd love to hear what you think!


	7. Chapter Six

Unfortunately for Emma, patrol didn’t really improve her evening. Storybrooke was the most  _ boring _ place on the planet. The police blotter was the equivalent of the funny pages in the  _ Mirror, _ with classics such as  _ A duck was removed from a home on Maple Street, _ or  _ Resident reported a suspicious deer on River Road; finding was negative. _

Being on patrol meant she had nothing to do except be alone with her thoughts. And right now, her thoughts were about how goddamn  _ immature _ Killian was being. She kept having to check to make sure she wasn’t accidentally turning on her radio while she had one-sided conversations with him about how ridiculous he was being. But she would rather have had something to actually  _ do _ on patrol.

It was just  _ such _ a stark difference from Boston. When she’d been on duty in the city, there was still downtime, and there was a ton of paperwork, but if she was driving around, there was always plenty of potentially suspicious behavior to catch her attention. Even if most of it was just people being people, and not doing anything illegal or dangerous, it was still engaging. She wasn’t bored out of her skull.

But she was on patrol way less often here, and there was something peaceful about the job in general. She knew Graham might want something a little more fast-paced, which was why she’d been checking out Augusta or even Portland to find work for him, but—

“Emma?” Mulan’s voice came in all crackly over the radio.

She grabbed it. “What’s up, Mulan?”

“Can you drive by the Gold estate? A neighbor said she saw some guy hanging around, looking like he might be casing the joint.”

“I’m on it.”

On the one hand, a possible burglar wasn’t boring— _ finally, _ something interesting that wasn’t just a local high school kid spray-painting an underpass! But on the other hand, it was the  _ Gold estate. _

She’d only bumped into Mr. Gold a few times since she’d come back, but he seemed to detest her just as much as he always had. Chances of him being irritated at having her step foot on his property were just as good as the chances of him being grateful that she’d stopped a potential burglar. If not  _ greater. _

She parked on the street, her lights turned off before the house even came into view, just in case the perp was on the lookout for cars. She knew the terrain well enough that the walk across the grounds from the street to the house was totally manageable without even a flashlight.

It was a little sad just how well she remembered it. Just how many times she’d snuck over here.

Her heart leapt a bit as she spotted a hooded figure fiddling with a basement window around the back of the house. She pulled her taser just in case, took a deep breath, and moved in. “Freeze! Sheriff’s department!”

“Shit!” the perp cursed, before taking off, bolting towards the far end of the house. Luckily, all that downtime she had here in Storybrooke compared to back in Boston meant that she’d increased the intensity of her running routine, and she was in the best shape of her life. In no time flat, she’d caught up, pulled the guy to the ground, and slapped on the handcuffs.

It wasn’t until she hauled him to his feet that she recognized him. Her heart dropped into her shoes. “Neal?”

His face lit up. “Emma?” He laughed, like  _ actually laughed, _ like they’d bumped into each other at a coffee shop or something. “Oh, man! Is it really you?”

Dear  _ lord, _ why couldn’t Mulan have been on patrol or something? “Uh, yeah.” Luckily, he didn’t ask the dreaded follow-up question, which was  _ Gee, when was the last time we saw each other? _

She remembered vividly, and it was the last thing she wanted to talk about. “What the  _ hell _ are you doing?”

She felt a swoop of unnamable feelings as his expression hardened a bit. She knew that look  _ very _ well—it was the look of a perp realizing he was in trouble and coming up with a good story. “I’m visiting my dad,” he explained, “and I left my key inside and locked myself out. I’ve gotten in through the basement before, so I figured it was my best option.”

She’d heard worse lies, but then again, she’d heard way better lies, too. “Uh huh,” she said. “So, you didn’t think to call him? Your cell phone is in the house, too?”

“Uh, no, it’s just dead,” he said, almost anxiously.

“Oh, okay, so the doorbell is broken.” She’d be having more fun with this game if she hadn’t had to deal with  _ Neal. _

“Well, no, but I didn’t want to wake him up.”

“Uh huh. Well, unfortunately, I’m going to have to.”

He snickered a bit. It wasn’t exactly  _ mean _ or anything—he just clearly didn’t believe she actually would. “Emma, just  _ relax, _ all right? It’s not a big deal.”

“Let’s find out.” She grabbed his arm and began to pull him along with her as she trudged towards the front door.

She felt like she was a passenger in her own body. She  _ never _ thought she’d ever see Neal again. He hadn’t been in town since before  _ she’d _ left; Ruby had even confirmed that he hadn’t been back. But here he was, a few months after she’d returned, almost like he’d  _ known _ or something.

There were too many emotions threatening to well up, so she did what she had to do: she went on autopilot. She wasn’t Emma Nolan, eighteen years old and heartbroken. She was Deputy Swan, and she was about to call a perp’s bluff. She rang the doorbell and stared at the door itself, actively ignoring all of Neal’s attempts to engage her in conversation. After a moment, she rang the doorbell again, just in case Gold or his wife thought they may have dreamt the initial ring.

Finally, the lights inside went on, and moments later, the front door opened to reveal Robert Gold in silk pajamas and a dressing robe. He looked incredibly displeased to see her, and to her delight, when his eyes flicked over to see Neal, his eyes widened.  _ Jackpot.  _ He was just as surprised to see his son as she had been.

It looked like the Gold reunion wouldn’t be as loving as the Nolan one had been.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Gold,” she said, trying her best to sound like a confident cop. “We received reports of a suspicious person on your property, and I found your son trying to break into your house through a basement window.” Gold looked like he wanted to murder at least one, if not both of them. “He says that he’s been staying with you, and that he accidentally locked himself out. Is this true?”

Gold clenched his jaw and glared at Neal. “Well, Deputy  _ Swan, _ had you simply believed my son, there would have been no need to wake me or my wife at such an hour.”

She wanted to laugh at the way he was skirting around the truth. “So you’re telling me that he  _ wasn’t _ breaking into your house?” she asked skeptically.

“Of course he wasn’t breaking in.” And  _ there _ was the lie. She’d have expected nothing less. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind freeing him from those handcuffs, you have interrupted my sleep long enough.”

“Turn around,” she told Neal. At least he looked miserable, and she knew why. Even if he wasn’t getting dragged down to the sheriff’s station for attempted breaking and entering, he was in deep shit with his dad. She unlocked the cuffs, and he almost reluctantly stepped inside the house.

She thought—and hoped—that Gold would just shut the door on her, but to her dismay, he leveled one more disapproving glare at her. “When you joined the sheriff’s department,” he said bitterly, “in a  _ brazen _ display of nepotism, I knew it was only a matter of time before you took advantage of your position. And sure enough, here you are on my doorstep, abusing your authority in an effort to vilify my son. You can be sure that I will be filing a formal complaint with the mayor’s office; I’m  _ sure _ Mayor Mills will be  _ very _ interested to hear about this.” And with that, he slammed the door in her face.

Emma wasn’t sure how the rest of her patrol went. She vaguely recalled driving around for another couple hours before stopping by the station to drop off the squad car. That was the only explanation for how she could have arrived home at three o’clock in the morning in her Bug.

The ability to shut down and just be Deputy Swan had been helpful when dealing with Neal and Gold, but now it was like she’d shut off deputy mode and couldn’t turn Regular Emma mode back on. She felt empty and numb, and for a moment when she walked into the house, she thought maybe she’d died and became a ghost or something ridiculous like that.

That concept—along with the visualization of herself as a ghost, making  _ spoooooky _ faces at Killian to try to get him out of the house—was like a shock to the system. She suddenly realized she was standing in the middle of the pitch black living room, giggling to herself over the mental image.

It was then that the rush of emotions she’d managed to keep at bay for the past few hours came  _ screaming _ in.

Neal. Neal was back.  _ Neal. _

It was like she was eighteen all over again. Seeing his face, and that  _ stupid obnoxious grin, _ like he was  _ happy _ to see her—after he’d  _ left _ her, after he’d  _ abandoned _ her, knowing that she was in trouble, knowing that she needed him, knowing that—

A sob escaped her lips.

God, it wasn’t even like he  _ cared, _ or like he was  _ sorry, _ and he just  _ lied  _ about what he was even  _ doing, _ just like he always had, and he hadn’t even  _ asked _ about—

“Swan?”

Oh,  _ god, _ not  _ now. _ She’d totally just started having a breakdown in the middle of the fucking living room at three o’clock in the morning, and Killian was  _ right there _ on the couch. She had to get out of here. She sucked in an unsteady breath and stumbled in the direction of the hallway to her bedroom. If she could just get into her room and shove her head under a pillow, Mom and Dad wouldn’t hear her—

She tripped on Dad’s goddamn chair; he’d left it reclined, and she banged her shins on the footrest before almost falling over. The collision wasn’t noisy enough to wake Mom and Dad, but the whole ancient piece of shit creaked and groaned in protest, and she couldn’t help but let out a yelp of surprise.

“Bloody hell, Swan, you can’t even navigate your own damn living room without making a racket. I know you were working, but  _ some _ of us are trying to sleep.”

“Sorry,” she managed to gasp, righting herself on the chair. Of course she’d have trouble making her way through the living room. She hadn’t lived here in years—she’d forgotten that sometimes Dad forgot to put the chair upright, she’d—

She did her best to stifle another sob.

“Swan? Emma? Emma, what’s wrong?” She heard the rustle of blankets and the springs of the couch as he stood.

“Nothing, I’m sorry, I’ll just—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Suddenly, he had his hand on her shoulder, and he was pulling her around to face him. She could barely see him in the dark. “Emma, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“It’s nothing, please, Killian.” Every word she said was more and more pathetic. She felt like she was falling apart, like it was ten years ago, like nothing had changed and she was just a terrified kid.

He reached up and cupped her cheek, wiping away some of her tears with his thumb. “It’s not nothing,” he whispered. “It can’t be nothing.”

And just like no time had passed, she was just Emma, just scared, just hurt, and he was just Killian, her best friend who wanted to do anything to make her feel better, who knew the best and worst of her, who was always there for her, even when she made stupid decisions.

“Neal’s back,” she finally said.

“Bloody hell.” And with that, he led her to the couch and wrapped his arms around her. And she finally let the breakdown wash over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, and I'd love to hear what you think!


	8. Chapter Seven

Emma woke up in her own bed, feeling disgustingly sweaty and practically hungover. Everything was hazy, and she definitely had slept really badly. But she hadn’t been drinking last night, so why did she feel like shit?

Oh, _ right. _

She’d apprehended Neal while on patrol, embarrassed herself in front of Gold, and then come home and broken down in front of Killian.

She groaned miserably into her pillow.

At least Killian had been … well,  _ nice _ about the whole thing, comforting her while she’d cried over Neal fucking Gold  _ again. _ She didn’t remember very much after that, including how she got into her own bed. Given that she was still fully dressed, he’d probably carried her in here; she groaned again.

She rolled over to find her phone on her nightstand, plugged in and everything. Okay, she  _ definitely _ didn’t remember plugging it in. Had Killian done that, too? She grabbed it and pressed the home button.

It was ten o’clock. Not bad for her day off after a night shift. Mom would be at school, Dad would be at the station, and Killian would either be running errands or working. If he was working, he’d either be out doing interviews or actually  _ at _ the  _ Storybrooke Mirror _ meeting with his colleagues and supervisor, or he’d be typing away at his laptop in the dining room.

She hoped he wasn’t home, and for the first time, it wasn’t because she felt like he was invading her space.

How was she supposed to face him after last night? Last night had been … mortifying wasn’t really the right word exactly. It was like a blast from the past, and it wasn’t  _ horrible _ that Killian had comforted her, but she couldn’t let things get out of hand. She couldn’t let things be like they’d been ten years ago.

But even if he was home, she couldn’t hide in her room forever. She stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom. A shower  _ had _ to help clear her head.

It certainly  _ felt _ good. For all that she’d been stone cold sober all night, emotional upheaval was one hell of a drug. A nice, hot shower helped get rid of the stuffy feeling that had seeped into her brain. Once she was done, she dried her hair and tried not to cringe too hard at how puffy her eyelids were. No amount of makeup was going to disguise the fact that she’d been sobbing all night, but hey, at least it was her day off, right?

She wrapped herself in her bathrobe, tossed her dirty clothes into the hamper, and wandered out towards the kitchen to grab something to eat. And of course, there was Killian, in the kitchen, at the stove.

The man rarely slept past seven; this couldn’t possibly be his breakfast. What was he doing? “Isn’t it a little early for you to be eating lunch?” she asked.

“Not lunch, and not for me,” he replied. “I thought that with the night you had, you might want something more substantial than a granola bar or a bowl of cereal.”

“Killian, I …” She trailed off and hugged her robe around herself more tightly. Why couldn’t he just go back to being a jerk?

He sighed. “Just … I’ll be done in a few minutes. There should be enough time for you to get dressed.”

For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to do. Should she tell him to fuck off and grab herself a bowl of Froot Loops? Should she refuse breakfast and then later complain about how hungry she was? Should she get dressed but then pick something up from Granny’s and come back and eat it in front of him?

That’s what she would have done yesterday. But something had changed last night, and it wasn’t  _ just _ that Neal was back.

Neal being back just meant that she’d be in a shit mood, or that Granny’s would have been off the table because she’d be avoiding it like the plague due to all the gossip. It shouldn’t be leaving her feeling  _ this _ weird around Killian.

After a minute of staring at him awkwardly while he continued to cook, she realized that she  _ was _ going to have to get dressed at some point anyway. So she trudged back to her room, throwing on her preferred “day off” clothes—yoga pants and an old T-shirt of Graham’s that was at least three sizes too big for her—before returning to the kitchen.

“Dining room,” Killian said, without looking up at her. He was still working diligently at the stove. She was tempted to just stand and watch; it was almost poetic the way that he used his prosthetic hook. He’d obviously gotten used to it to the point where he didn’t have to even think about it—he’d slide utensils into it, or use it to shift the pan’s handle so he could grab it with his right hand.

He did have a prosthesis that was a hand; it didn’t look  _ real, _ but it had fingers and everything. He usually only wore it when he was typing, the fingers carefully prearranged so he could type just as quickly as she could with two hands.

She wondered, not for the first time, how self-conscious he’d been when he’d first lost his hand, and how unselfconscious he was now. She still had no idea how it had even happened.

“Dining room,” he said again, bringing her back to the moment at hand. “If you please.”

“Okay,” she replied flatly, and walked past him, into the dining room.

Her heart and stomach did some weird shit when she stepped in and looked at the single place setting at the table, set up in her usual spot. There was a folded fabric napkin with utensils laid out on it, a mug filled with what was probably hot chocolate (given that there was a mountain of whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon on top of it), a glass of orange juice, the syrup and butter, and even a tiny little bud vase with a single daisy in it.

She froze. Panic. Panic was filling her up and she couldn’t move.

“Swan,” he said gently, right behind her, and she flinched slightly. “It’s all right, love. Just have a seat.”

She did, and he slid two dishes in front of her; one of them had bacon and eggs on it, scrambled with cheese (just the way she loved them), and the other had a stack of big, fluffy-looking pancakes.

“Killian,” she said, trying to warn him but not sure what she was warning him  _ about. _

“Emma, please listen to me,” he said, dropping into his own seat at the table. “The past few months—I know that neither of us has been …” He sighed almost angrily, like he was pissed at himself. “Look, I know we can’t magically forget about the past decade, and I’m not  _ asking _ to.”

He paused, and she thought about interjecting with some kind of bullshit comment so she could end the conversation and run back to her room to hide out for the rest of the day. But before she could decide whether or not that was way too cowardly, he kept going.

“I’ve missed you,” he said softly. “You’re back, and yet I still miss you, and I  _ know _ it’s because I’ve been … reluctant to welcome you back. Or however you want to label our competitive behavior. But I don’t want that. I just …”

“You want what we had,” she said gently, and her heart careened in her chest for some reason.

“Aye, and I know that’s not possible,” he acknowledged. “Ten years makes a difference, especially  _ these _ ten years. But I thought perhaps … maybe we could have something else? Something equally good, even if it’s not the same?”

She stared down at the perfect breakfast in front of her and recognized it for what it was: a peace offering. Last night had been like one of those nights during a war where soldiers from the opposing sides just ignored their differences to celebrate Christmas or something; it hadn’t been an official cessation of the hostilities. Just a pause, a bit of relief, before they resumed battle.

That’s what last night had been for them: a pause while they both dealt with the shitstorm that had arrived in the form of Neal.

_ This _ was the official cessation of the hostilities, or at least, Killian clearly meant it to be.

But if she accepted—what would that mean? Could they really ever have something that was even close to what they used to without it coming with baggage? Could they have anything that didn’t end with him getting hurt? With her having to run again?

When she finally looked up at him, he was staring at the empty space on the table in front of him, his face red with embarrassment.

This had been worse for him, hadn’t it? Besides Liam, all of Killian’s emotional upheaval had been because of  _ her— _ he’d married her and taken care of her, then she’d left, then she’d come back with the divorce papers, then she’d re-inserted herself into his life.

He’d had every right to be defensive, and yet last night, when she’d been falling apart, he’d been there for her. And now  _ he _ was the one trying to make things right, like  _ he _ had been the asshole.

(Well, he  _ had _ kind of been an asshole, but that just brought her back to how she’d just shown up in a whirlwind and knocked his life out of whack. She’d started it.)

She didn’t want to hurt him. But would it hurt more if she kept her distance?

This was Killian. She couldn’t stay here in Storybrooke and  _ also _ stay out of his life.

That made the decision for her.

She stood up from the table, wordlessly, and walked out of the room back into the kitchen. It was the fastest route to her bedroom, and she knew if she turned around, she’d see him either continuing to sulk and stare at the table, or gazing at her sadly. But instead of heading into the hallway and shutting herself away like he now expected, she grabbed extra utensils from the silverware drawer, pulled another plate out of the cupboard, and headed back into the dining room.

When she returned, whatever expression he’d had before had morphed into confusion. “Here,” she said, hastily arranging the place setting. It looked ridiculously lacking compared to what he’d set up for her, but then again, story of her life. “We both know this is way too much food for me to eat by myself.”

She went to sit back down, but he grabbed her wrist before she could. “Emma.” His expression was unreadable now, but there was something weirdly desperate in his voice. Her cop instincts picked up on it neatly and easily; it was like when a perp just  _ wanted _ to confess, to cooperate, to ease his guilt, but just couldn’t pull the trigger because he was too afraid of the consequences.

Whatever it was that Killian wanted to tell her, he wasn’t going to. Not right now, anyway.

She just leaned in and hugged him.

With the exception of last night, they hadn’t hugged—had barely touched—since she’d showed up three months ago. And last night  _ barely _ counted; it was an outlier, because of Neal. This was different; it was the way she could show him—really show him—that she was accepting the truce he was offering. Things would be different now.

Just what that  _ different _ would actually be, of course, was still a mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> (For the record, this chapter was written way before pancakes were a thing in the CS fandom.)


	9. Chapter Eight

In the least shocking development  _ ever, _ Storybrooke buzzed with gossip about Neal, his return, and his near arrest. And  _ naturally, _ the rumor mill was stuck on the story that Neal had indeed been locked out by accident, and that Emma had only tried to arrest him out of spite.

But weirdly enough, this seemed to be weirdly working out in her  _ favor. _

Gold and his son were  _ not _ popular in town; whereas everyone had simply been curious and interested when Emma had come back, now they were saying all sorts of horrible shit about Neal. That he’d come back because he needed money to fund a drug habit, or to pay off gambling debts, or any other unsavory and illegal reasons to need cash. As far as everyone was concerned, Emma had done the right thing by trying to arrest him.

Only that she had done the right thing out of spite.

_ Well, after the way he left her, ruining her life, can you blame her? _

_ Girl needed to get back at him somehow, and more power to her. _

_ I bet that’s why she became a cop, so she could find him and arrest his ass! Shame his daddy bailed him out and spoiled it. _

Hell, when they’d gone to Tony’s for Dad’s birthday dinner the next night, Tony himself had comped the whole meal as a “thank you” for the whole debacle. They’d all sputtered politely about it, with Dad in particular protesting the special treatment, but Tony had remained steadfast, explaining that Emma had done a public service for the whole community and needed to be properly thanked.

Even if she wasn’t in love with the rumors that she was just getting revenge, Emma kind of enjoyed the fact that for once, the rumors were sort of on her side. Over the past few months, she’d finally gotten used to letting the negative rumors roll off her, so she’d never expected that there would be any in her defense. Ever.

Which is what brought her to the Rabbit Hole on Friday night after her shift: thanks to her “heroics,” all her drinks were on the house, and tonight she needed a lot of them. Thank god the bar was within walking distance of her parents’ house, because she had no intention of being sober enough to drive home.

It was pretty busy, given that it was Friday night, so while she waited for her rum and coke, she listened to Graham’s voicemail again.

_ Hey, it’s me. I know you’re working, but I couldn’t wait until later to tell you the news. Augusta’s police department has agreed to take me on for a month-long trial period starting October first, and Saxon’s already okayed the time off. I know I’ve been reluctant to move up to Maine, but I have a good feeling about this. Give me a call back when you can. I love you. _

Emma sighed and resisted the urge to put her head down on the sticky bar.

She wasn't sure why she  _ wasn't _ giddy with happiness. After all, she'd been the one to impose this huge life change on Graham. He had proposed to Emma Swan, who didn't have a life outside of Boston and had no family commitments or anything bothersome like that. Then suddenly he found himself engaged to a woman who in fact _ did _ have a past and family tying her down, and in a different state. Staying engaged to her meant giving up his old life, and she understood why he hadn't just dropped everything to move. She understood why he'd had to keep things long distance while he thought things over.

Now it sounded like he was ready to move up here. Sure, it was _ just _ a trial period in Augusta, and he wasn't officially quitting the precinct down in Boston. But she knew Graham; he would come up here and appreciate the slow, steady pace of life. It wouldn't be ideal for him, maybe, but he would find a way to enjoy it for her sake.

He would probably want to come up next weekend to look for an apartment, and then he'd move here. She'd move in with him because of  _ course  _ she would—why would a twenty-eight-year-old woman continue to live with her parents when she could live with her fiancé? And then they would get married and that would be it.

Why wasn't she happier thinking about this?

"I thought I'd find you here." Killian dropped onto the bar stool next to her.

She resisted the urge to stiffen in response. It had only been a week since they'd made up or whatever, and things were still awkward. When they were getting on each other's nerves, at least she knew how to act around him. Now? Well, she couldn't just be his best friend again; it had been too many years and they both had changed too much.

Plus she was engaged, and the casual platonic intimacy that used to make up her friendship with Killian felt absurdly inappropriate. How do you hug someone, lean against them, or brush their hair out of their face, when the someone in question is your ex-best-friend and ex-husband, and you're engaged to someone else?

"Swan? What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Did Neal get up to something again?"

"Ugh, no." Neal hadn't left town yet. Emma was pretty sure he was working on a way to scam dear old daddy, and until he did, he'd probably stick around. Whatever. Everyone in the sheriff's department was keeping a close eye on him, although if he did manage to con a bunch of money out of his dad, Emma wasn't going to lose sleep over it.

"Then what is it?"

"Nothing, okay? I just had a tough day and I want to unwind."

"I see." The bartender came over, and to her surprise, Killian ordered a soda.

She snorted. “A soft drink at a bar on a Friday night?”

“I’m here for the company.”

"So you're just gonna sit with me?"

"Is that such a terrible thing?"

"I guess not."

He sighed almost angrily. "Emma, I really meant what I said about having something together. I know it's difficult to know how to act around each other, but I really  _ do _ want to try."

"I know." She  _ did _ know. He'd spent the past week trying to make jokes or comments about the old days, and although she did want to repair their relationship, it felt like it was too much.

"Then what can I do?" he asked earnestly, accepting his drink from the bartender and taking a sip.

"I don't like talking about the past," she explained, taking a sip of her drink. "I remember how shitty I felt all the time, like nothing I could do was right. I know you were always there for me, but ..." She took a deep breath; now was  _ not _ the time to get into detail about all this. "Just, let's not talk about the past."

He was quiet after that, and she wondered if he was going to storm out angrily or something. Instead, he just cleared his throat. "That book you were reading when you first came back to town."

_ “And I Will Win It? _ The writing group one?” He didn't continue. "Uh, yeah? What about it?"

"Did you finish it?"

"Yeah, I did. A while ago, actually. Why?"

"I read it."

"What?" That was weird. "When? Why?"

He chuckled at her surprise. "I love to read, Swan, you know that."

"Yeah, but I mean, it's not like this author is well known or anything."

"Perhaps not, but a book is a book. I like reading newer authors who are trying to get a wider audience."

That didn't seem quite like the whole truth, but it didn't feel untrue either. "Okay, well ... what about it?"

He shrugged. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Uh, a lot, actually. Why, did you?"

"I did."

"Okay." She paused. "Is this you trying to bond with me?"

"Well, bringing up our shared past hasn't quite worked, so I thought that I might try to bring up a shared interest instead. Humor me, Emma. Tell me what you liked about the book."

Might as well go with it; she  _ had _ asked to stop talking about the past. "Well, the style was really great. Like, poetic without being too ... what's the word for when everything is just too fancy?"

"Purple prose."

"Right, yeah. No purple prose. It didn't feel too abstract or condescending to me. I liked that. And I liked the theme, of people finding themselves and becoming who they were meant to be."

“Aye, I did as well. The idea that maybe we all must change, and that we can’t be right for each other until we do.”

“Yeah. I didn’t love the whole … well, there was the whole thing about how Charles didn’t feel like he was  _ worthy _ of Leia.”

Killian blinked at her before sitting up a bit straighter. “What do you mean?”

How had he missed that obvious part of the character’s arc? “Charles spends half the book trying to change himself to win Leia over because he’s convinced himself that he’s not good enough for her. Like, before he heads to New York to find her, he practically remakes himself.”

“Right, no, I recall that. But you didn’t like it?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “It kind of made the ending bittersweet. Like, I never got the sense that he  _ wasn’t _ worthy of her, just that he didn’t  _ think _ he was. So all this time he’s spent trying to become  _ worthy, _ it’s almost like a persona, you know? And in the end, when they get together, I feel like he’s always going to be afraid that he’ll slip back into his real … self, I guess, and that Leia won’t want him anymore.”

He frowned. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

Emma shrugged. “I still really liked the book. I’m going to have to tell Graham to pass the word along to the writing group.”

Graham. Right. She groaned unhappily; the later it got, the more anxious she was about having to call him back. Would he wonder why it took her so long? Would he believe her if she said she had to unexpectedly work patrol?

“There it is again.”

She blinked. “There’s what?”

“Your expression,” Killian replied. “You seemed vexed when I arrived, and now you seem vexed again.” He finished off his drink. “So tell me the truth: what’s wrong?”

“You’re not letting this go, are you?” she asked miserably. She knocked back the rest of her drink before signaling the bartender for another one.

“Pretend things aren’t strange between us, and perhaps that’ll help.”

That sounded kind of fake, but he obviously wasn’t giving in. “Fine. Okay. Graham wants to come up next weekend to look for apartments.”

“Oh.” Her cop senses tingled at the strange lack of emotion in his voice. “Does that mean he’s found a job?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, Augusta’s giving him a month-long trial starting in October.”

“Swan, that’s wonderful.” He sounded as excited as she felt.

“Yeah, I mean … I’m sure apartment hunting can’t be worse here than in Boston, right?”

He chuckled. “I’m sure it can’t be. How far out do you think you’ll look?”

She shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to think about it this week. It wouldn’t be fair to Graham to only look here in Storybrooke and give him an hour-long commute.”

“Right. Well, I’m sure you’ll find something that works for both of you. And someone who’s willing to move up here to be with you couldn’t possibly begrudge you the shorter commute so you can be closer to your family.”

He said it with such sincerity that she was a little shocked. “Really?”

“Aye, really.”

“Well … thanks.” Her second drink arrived, and she gestured at his empty glass. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink? They’re on me, which means they’re on the house.” She giggled a little.

He smiled. “That’s all right. I should be getting home anyway. Early day tomorrow.”

“It’s Saturday tomorrow. What’s getting you up so early?”

“Behind on the renovations,” he admitted. “I haven’t made any progress since your father’s accident.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” she reminded him automatically. “You’re going to do the renovations by yourself?”

“Aye. It takes longer, and it’s difficult, but I can manage. Your father hasn’t been helping me  _ all _ the time, you know.”

“No, I know, just … well, maybe this’ll be my last drink,” she said, gesturing at the rum and coke. “It’ll be hard for me to help you tomorrow if I’m hungover.”

“Really? Swan—Emma, that wasn’t meant to be—”

“Killian, it’s fine. I don’t have anything else planned, and I could …” She sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it, but I need to get my mind off of this whole Graham thing before my head explodes. If I just stay home and veg, I might tear my hair out.”

“Well,” he conceded after a minute, “your hair is much too lovely to allow that. How does seven sound?”

“Sounds good.”

Once he left, and she’d finished her second drink, she finally got up the courage to call Graham. He didn’t seem upset that it was almost ten o’clock at night, just excited about coming up next Friday to go apartment hunting. She tried to let his enthusiasm rub off on her, but as she walked home afterwards, enjoying the warmth that lingered on during the beginning of September, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was fundamentally wrong about the whole situation.

She just didn’t know exactly what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'd love to know what you think!


	10. Chapter Nine

When she’d first stepped into Killian’s house after a ten year absence, Emma had wondered if she’d come to the right house. But if she’d just gone upstairs to the second floor, she would have known she’d been in the right place.

One of the reasons why the first floor had been so different was that it was now open concept. Since the second floor was just bedrooms and the bathroom, open concept was impossible, so the layout stayed the same.

Not that  _ nothing _ had changed; Killian was definitely neck-deep into renovations upstairs, and had made plenty of progress. The same wood paneling that had plagued the first floor had also been everywhere on the second floor, and he’d torn all of it down already. All of the doors had been replaced and reframed, and all the windows were new. There used to just be the one full bath upstairs; he’d torn out the old fixtures and had clearly just finished tiling the floor and a bunch of the walls, including the shower surround. And now there was a second bathroom—a real master bath, off of Liam’s old bedroom, with a soaking tub, separate shower, and double sink. That was also tiled, although like the other bathroom, it was missing a bunch of things, like mirrors and lights.

He’d been working on the drywall when Dad had fallen. Most of the rooms and the hallway were done, with everything compounded and sanded, and holes cut out for light fixtures. He’d even managed to install a ceiling fan in Liam’s room, although it wouldn’t be usable until everything was done (dust would go flying everywhere, he explained).

“What’s even left?” she asked, peeking into the linen closet in the hallway.

“Let’s see,” he said thoughtfully. “Have to hang the drywall in my room—apply joint compound and sand and everything as well. That’s the last room that needs that. Then there’s trim, painting, lighting and the rest of the electric. Then I have to finish the bathrooms, get the plumbing hooked up and all. And then the floors need to be refinished. I think that’s it.”

“Where is all the furniture?” Emma asked, poking her head into Killian’s bedroom. The ladder from Dad’s fall was still lying sideways across the dropcloth, the tools were still laid out, and the drywall that they’d been hanging was leaning against the wall. He clearly hadn’t been back in here since the incident.

“Basement,” he said.

She snickered. “Is it going to be usable after that?”

“Darling, that was the first space I renovated. It’s watertight, not a speck of moisture in sight.”

“Oh. Never mind then.”

“Anyway, I admit, I should have finished more of the space before starting on my bedroom. But it’s just so much easier to do each step all at once—drywall, then trim, then paint, then floors … you see the problem.”

“Yeah. Where were you going to sleep?”

He paused. “What do you mean?”

She recognized the change in his tone: defensive innocence. “You’ve been crashing on the couch because you were  _ supposed _ to crash in my room,” she realized.

“Swan.”

“Killian.”

He sighed. “All right. Yes, that was the plan.”

Guilt swept through her. This whole time, she’d been feeling edged out of her life with Killian refusing to leave her parents’ house. Meanwhile, he’d had an agreement that he’d be living with her parents temporarily, and because of her spur of the moment decision to stay, he’d been sleeping on the uncomfortable couch for months.

No  _ wonder  _ he’d been so upset when she’d made the announcement. No  _ wonder _ he’d made all those comments about how  _ rash _ her decision had been.

“Killian, I—”

He held up his hand. “Emma, it’s all right.”

“But you’ve been—”

“You didn’t know, and you weren’t doing it  _ to _ me,” he pointed out. He shifted uncomfortably. “And besides, you’re about to move in with your fiancé, so I suppose I’ve only another few weeks of couch surfing at most.”

Right. That.

“Well,” she said, trying to change the subject a bit, “still, I want to help as much as I can with the renovations. Where do you want to get started?”

The answer was his bedroom, with her up on the ladder to actually hang the drywall. She now understood why he really needed Dad to help him: even with one person below, holding up the sheet of drywall, the person on the ladder still needed one hand to use the screw gun and another hand to hold the drywall steady.

Also, no  _ wonder _ Dad had fallen; the recoil from the gun was  _ absurd. _ She nearly fell twice before Killian had to call for a break, his face covered in nervous sweat. “Sorry,” she said. “Let’s pull the ladder back an inch or two, maybe?”

“But then you’ll have to lean forward more—that’s dangerous.”

“More dangerous than me almost falling off? Or you scaring me every time you gasp? We’ve got a lot of drywall to go in this room, Killian.”

“Fair point.”

He was right that leaning forward felt a lot less safe, and it took her a while to get the hang of balancing. But the recoil was easier to handle, and as she got more comfortable (and as Killian relaxed a bit), the process went by pretty quickly. As the afternoon rolled around, they were both making their way around the room, applying joint compound to every seam, dent, hole, and indentation.

It was … nice. Sometimes they were quiet, but sometimes they playfully argued over what radio station to listen to on the ancient boombox he’d plugged in. They broke for lunch and then a snack, with Emma running to Granny’s for the former, and Killian briefly disappearing downstairs to bring up the latter. They talked about paint colors and furniture layouts, and where to get discount sconces.

Emma wasn’t sure she really liked the looks that Mom and Dad kept giving her when they finally went home—well, not  _ home, _ since he was just crashing during renovations and she was moving out in less than three weeks—and had dinner. She wasn’t sure what the looks  _ were, _ but she knew she didn’t like them.

Killian, at least, seemed equally confused and uncomfortable, and after Mom and Dad went to bed, they briefly conferred about the situation in the living room. “What do you think that was about?” he asked, whispering just in case.

“I don’t know. They seemed almost … overly cautious. Right?”

“Yes,  _ yes, _ exactly!”

“Shh!”

“Sorry. But yes.”

“There was something else, though, but I can’t place it.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right. I’m just glad to know I’m not mad.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely not imagining … whatever that was.”

“Good.”

She yawned; it seemed like it should have been a normal yawn, but as she was halfway through, it turned into something almost comically exaggerated. Killian chuckled. “Sorry,” she said, once she’d finished. “I didn’t realize how exhausted I was.”

“You did an incredible amount of physical labor today. I don’t envy you having to work tomorrow.”

“Ugh, yeah. Are you going to work on your own?”

“Not in the morning. I have a story to finish for Sidney, and an interview to conduct. But that’ll give the joint compound time to finish drying so I can sand it.”

“I’m not working late tomorrow. Just till four o’clock. I can bring dinner around and help get some more done.”

He smiled. “That would be great, actually.”

It was impossible not to smile back. “Good. All right, good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sleep well, darling.”

After Sunday evening’s sanding extravaganza, the renovations slowed, and Emma found herself almost ansty to speed them back up again. With her impending cohabitation, it wasn’t even about getting Killian out of the house and back into his own. Instead, she just had this  _ idea _ of what the finished product would look like, and she was sick of the upstairs  _ not _ looking like that.

But since she was working extra hours all week in order to have the weekend off for apartment hunting, she barely had time to help Killian. She wasn’t off till six or seven most nights, and by the time she brought Killian dinner, he was wrapping up, having made only minimal progress due to his own day job.

Even so, they’d finished sanding everything, and Liam’s room and the hallway were now outfitted with baseboards and crown molding. His bedroom and the spare only had baseboard, since he was waiting for her to help with the crown molding, but things were starting to come together. Thursday night, he told her he would be shopping for light fixtures on Saturday, having found a place that sold them wholesale, and she’d made the mistake of asking to go with him.

He’d stared at her, looking torn between keeping quiet and pointing out something he thought might upset her. “What?” she asked. “I mean, I know it’s your house, but it might help to have a second pair of eyes.”

“No, it’s not that,” he said, shaking his head. “Although your taste is a little bland for me, love.”

“You don’t want this place looking like a seventeenth century French castle, Killian.”

“You  _ do _ recall that I picked out all the fixtures downstairs, aye? And you seem to like those well enough.”

“Whatever. So if it’s not that, then what it is?”

He cleared his throat a little nervously. “Well, I just assumed you would be a little busy either looking at flats with Graham, or taking advantage of the opportunity to introduce him to your parents.”

It was like her whole stomach filled with sand. Right. Graham.

He was coming  _ tomorrow. _ She  _ knew _ that. He’d been texting her nonstop about it all week, and definitely all day today. She had a half-day tomorrow so she could take him to Augusta early in the afternoon to look at a couple places. He’d be leaving Sunday; they had a couple more apartment viewings scheduled that morning, and then he was heading back shortly after lunch. Saturday, meanwhile, was filled with apartment hunting, interspersed with tours of Storybrooke and the surrounding area, and the classic “meet the parents” situation.

And all she could think of was that she didn’t  _ want _ to do all that.

She wanted to enjoy her half-day tomorrow and then come here and get the rest of the crown molding up. She wanted to go to Portland with Killian on Saturday, argue with him over sconces and bathroom light fixtures, and then pick up paint samples at the hardware store. She wanted to have a lazy Sunday brunch on the beach, since the weather was still nice and warm, before sanding the joint compound off of the baseboard and molding.

“Emma?”

She blinked, and Killian’s concerned face was staring back at her. “Right,” she said, remembering where she was— _ who _ she was. “Right, yeah. Well, feel free to text me if you’re not sure what to get.”

He chuckled. “I know what’ll look good.”

“Well, so do I,” she countered. “Besides, maybe I’ll see something interesting, design-wise, at one of these apartments. You never know.”

“That’s fair. I’ll text you if you’ll text me with design ideas.”

“It’s a deal.”

That night, she couldn’t sleep. What was  _ wrong _ with her? What kind of person wanted to spend more time with their ex-husband, renovating his goddamn house, than looking for a place to live with the man she actually  _ wanted _ to marry?

It had to be cold feet, of course. It was why it had taken her a bit to cope with Graham’s proposal. She  _ had _ been engaged before; she’d been married before; she’d cohabitated before. But it had all been rushed, and it hadn’t been because Killian had loved her and wanted to actually be with her. It hadn’t been  _ real. _

Now, it was  _ real, _ and she was having the same doubts and fears that  _ everyone _ had to have before these major life events, right? And the reason why moving in together was freaking her out more than getting married was that the marriage was still this abstract thing. Meanwhile, moving in together was happening in two weeks.

And living with someone was  _ so _ much more of a change than marrying them. At least, that’s what she’d heard. She and Graham had stayed the night at each other’s places before, but they would be  _ living _ together now. Would they each do their own laundry, or would they combine dirty clothes? Would cooking and doing the dishes be something they traded off or did together? Would they get sick of each other if they saw each other every day?

It had been easy with Killian—as easy as things  _ could _ be with everything that loomed over the two of them. It had been weird doing stuff like handling his underwear, but he’d do the laundry and she’d fold it. They took turns cooking and doing the dishes. And he was her  _ best friend;  _ getting sick of him—

She groaned. Why was she  _ thinking _ like this? She’d divorced Killian; marrying him had been a disaster. She was marrying  _ Graham. _ There was no reason to compare the two situations. It was all too different.

She just had cold feet. That was it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this update! Let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter Ten

“Okay, what was wrong with  _ that _ one?” Graham asked a little despondently as they drove from their last apartment viewing back to Storybrooke. 

“Well, it just wasn’t right,” Emma said.

“What wasn’t right about it?”

“It was just so dark,” she complained, although it had only been dark because of the heavy, old curtains. “And it had an electric range.” Not that either one of them really  _ cared _ about that.

“Look, jot it down, okay?” she conceded. “And if tomorrow and Sunday go badly, then I guess that’ll be it.”

“All right.” She heard him scribble down the details in the notebook he’d brought with him. “I think that’s fair.”

She got why he was so frustrated; this was the only apartment they looked at today that hadn’t been a disaster. One was in a swampy area that Emma knew would be overridden with mosquitoes in the summer. Another one had cracks in the walls and exposed electrical wires. Another one had seemed perfect until the upstairs neighbors had come home and started stomping around.

This one? This one was  _ fine. _ It was halfway between Augusta and Storybrooke. The curtains could come down immediately. The electric range was irrelevant. It was the right price, in a nice neighborhood, with friendly landlords.

She hated it.

Graham was quiet, but still cheerful, as they grabbed some dinner to go and headed upstairs to his room. She’d made an excuse about wanting to relax while they ate, and he’d happily obliged.

“So what’s on tap for tomorrow?” he asked, mouth still a little full.

“Bunch more apartments,” she said, after swallowing a mouthful of onion ring. “A few here in Storybrooke, and then a couple near the one you liked. And then I thought maybe we could go back out to Augusta and give you some time to explore the city.”

“That sounds good. And then dinner with your parents?”

“Mmhmm.”

“At their house? Or here?”

“Another place. Tony’s.”

“Ah, sounds nice.”

“Yeah, it’s the actual  _ nice _ restaurant in town. Although, don’t let Granny know I said that.” She chuckled. “Don’t let  _ anyone _ know I said that. Seriously, this place is gossip central.”

“Oh?”

“Totally. Unless you guard a secret with your life, everything is fair game. Sometimes, they get things right, but sometimes they get things wrong and it’s even worse.” Thoughts of Ruby and  _ Oh, but she kept it  _ went through her mind at that.

“That sounds …” He paused thoughtfully. “Emma, that sounds awful, actually.”

“Yeah?”

He sighed. “I have to admit, when you first told me about why you left, I thought you were a bit … don’t be upset, but—”

“Overly dramatic?”

“Yes. I understood running away, but the name change and secrecy to avoid anyone finding you—it seemed strange to me. But I get it now.”

“You do?” She felt this weird mix of emotions. Shouldn’t she just be  _ relieved?  _ She  _ was _ relieved, and kind of surprised in a good way, but … something else was nagging at her.

“I do,” he repeated. “Emma, it was brave of you to come back here, just to reconcile with your past so I could meet your family. And it was brave of you to stay so you could reconnect with them.”

Oh god, he was putting such a positive spin on the situation, and he didn’t even know the half of it. What could she possibly say right now?

Nothing. She just smiled, and took another bite of her grilled cheese.

To her surprise, Killian was already back at the house when she got home; he was relaxing on the porch, a book in his hand. He looked equally surprised to see her. “What are you doing here, love?”

She chuckled. “I still live here. Weren’t you going to do some more work on the house tonight?”

He shook his head. “Honestly, it’s a little difficult without your help. Not to make you feel guilty or anything; I know you had better things to do today.”

“Not  _ better,” _ she said reflexively, and his eyebrow rose. “Just time sensitive, I guess. Are you going to be okay without me tomorrow? Graham has his own car, so he can always drive around Augusta on his own tomorrow afternoon.”

“No, it’s all right. I can’t imagine that Graham would be too pleased with that situation anyway.”

She wanted to make a snarky reply about how it didn’t really matter if  _ Graham _ was pleased or not before she caught herself. Instead, she just nodded. “Yeah, true. All right, well, I’m gonna head in and shower and head to bed. Early day tomorrow.”

“Aye, likewise. Just have to wait for your parents to go to bed, and then I’ll be turning in as well.”

“Okay.” There was nothing else to say, but it was hard to move off the porch for some reason. “Good night.”

“Good night, darling.”

When she stepped into the diner the next morning, and saw everyone staring at her, she  _ knew _ something was wrong. She practically flew up to Graham’s room and knocked on the door. The stormy look in his eyes when he opened the door confirmed what she suspected: something had happened.

“I went downstairs for an early breakfast,” he said, standing across the room from her as she sat on the bed.

Of  _ course _ . She should have seen this coming, should have told him they’d go out for breakfast.  _ She’d left him alone at Granny’s _ . People knew who he was, and they’d have said things. Made comments. Clued him in.

“I want to give you a chance to tell me what’s going on,” he said softly. “I don’t like feeling this way, Emma. But from what everyone was saying to me …”

“I know,” she sighed. Excuses about the townsfolk, and how he should just ignore them, were obviously not going to fly right now. All there was was the truth. “It’s a long story, if you’re ready for it.”

“I am,” he replied earnestly. “We can forget about the apartment viewings; that’s not as important to me as this is.” He finally sank down onto the bed next to her, and put his hand on her shoulder. “I love you, and I want to marry you, but I can’t do that if you’re hiding so much from me.”

She nodded. God, where to even start?

At the beginning, probably.

“When I was sixteen, this older kid from town moved back home. I thought he was really cool, and he noticed me and paid attention to me, and I loved it.”

Oh, she’d more than  _ loved _ it. Neal Gold had been the most exciting thing to ever happen to her. The only other boy who ever gave her the time of day had been Killian, and he hadn’t counted because, sixteen-year-old Emma reasoned, best friends didn’t count as boys.

But Neal was older and  _ cool, _ and when he noticed her—noticed the little goodie-two-shoes daughter of the sheriff and a schoolteacher—it was like being noticed by a celebrity.

“I started to try to impress him and hang out with him, and before long, we became friends. And soon, hanging out with him started to involve some … bad behavior.”

It seemed chaste now, but at the time, it had been thrilling. Pocketing a lipstick at the drugstore, lying to Mom about needing cash for a bake sale, writing  _ Cops R PIGS! _ on the wall of an alley, skipping school with a forged note.

“And then things got more serious between us.”

It had been easy to tell Dad that she was heading over to Killian’s at four, and then show up at six instead. Or to tell Killian she wasn’t feeling well and needed to head home around eleven, and then be back in her own bed by six in the morning before Mom and Dad woke up.

But it had felt so worth it. She’d felt like the heroine in some kind of movie, sneaking out to be with her  _ soulmate. _ And he’d made her feel so  _ good,  _ touching her in ways that had never felt  _ this _ amazing under her own hands, and telling her how amazing she felt … and how condoms would ruin that.

“Things escalated, crime-wise,” she said lamely, blushing at where her train of thought had been taking her. “He’d stolen some watches from a jewelry store down in Portland. He was starting to think he might be a suspect because of some video cameras at the store, and the fact that he’d dropped out of college and moved home right after. He’d stashed the watches at a bus stop in a locker on his way back up here, and he was trying to figure out how to get them and fence them.”

She took a deep shuddering breath. “So I told him I’d get the watches. I wanted to prove how much I loved him. And I figured, this was bigger than petty theft, so it would be more exciting. I told him to give me the key to the locker, and leave the rest to me.”

“You got caught,” Graham said flatly.

“Yep.”

“Were you charged?”

“No. Dad was able to easily prove that I was in Storybrooke the night the watches were stolen. I’d been at a school event; there were dozens of witnesses and my phone GPS placing me in town at the time of the robbery.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, my parents—hell, the whole town, obviously,” she said angrily. “Everyone knows  _ everything, _ and I hate it. Everyone knew it had been Neal and that I was covering for him. My parents begged me to just tell the truth, that Neal had stolen the watches, but I refused. I lied and said I found the key myself, remembered the bus stop from a field trip to Boston, and just guessed. No one believed me, but without me as a witness, they couldn’t charge Neal.”

And now, for the  _ fun _ part. “Portland’s cops were livid that they were getting played by a kid, so they decided to run a bunch of drug tests on me to see if they could get something else on me as leverage. And … that’s how I found out I was pregnant.”

She heard him suck in a breath, but hey, he wanted the whole story. “I told Neal about it. Like, I just  _ rushed _ to him all excited, and gushed about how we could use the money from the watches to raise our kid together.”

“He ran,” Graham finished for her. Either he knew already, from the rumors, or he guessed.

“With no warning,” she confirmed. “Left a note for his dad about not coming home. Nothing for me. Just … gone.”

She paused, steeling herself to continue. “I didn’t know what to do at first. I’d been planning on keeping the baby before Neal left, and felt conflicted about  _ not _ keeping it now that he was gone. But before I could decide what to do … my best friend, Killian, he … he was raised by his older brother, Liam, who was like a brother to me, too. And …”

Killian had been consoling her—at his house, since Mom and Dad didn’t know about the pregnancy yet—when the phone had rung. She still remembered his voice as he’d answered, going from polite to confused to something she hadn't understood at the time.

It had been grief-stricken confusion. She was a cop now; she’d been the one to makes those kinds of calls. And the memory of that phone call haunted her every time she had to give that kind of news to someone, just remembering how she'd heard Killian, his voice uncharacteristically small: "What—what do you mean, accident?"

She sucked in a breath before she continued. Even years later, it hurt to think about what had happened. “A truck driver with a suspended license had been driving on too little sleep and slammed into Liam when he was driving home from the airport. It was—he was just  _ gone, _ like that.” 

“Oh, Emma.”

She wiped away tears she hadn’t realized were streaking her face. “We were all a wreck after that, and Killian … he got it into his head that the best thing for us to do would be to get married.”

It had been two days later, after Killian had met with the funeral home director, that he'd brought her to the beach—his beach—and proposed.

“I don't want you to be alone,” he'd told her, as he'd tried very hard to keep his composure. “My dad left us, and I don't want that for you or the baby. We can take care of each other. What do you say, Emma?”

“So I went with it,” she continued. “And we got married, and I was this  _ stereotype, _ you know? Barely out of high school, pregnant by a criminal. The marriage was  _ so _ fake. And so … when I miscarried, I just  _ ran.” _

“You miscarried?”

She nodded. “I bet you heard something else, right?” It was his turn to nod. Given that he’d sounded surprised about the pregnancy, he’d probably heard the rumor that she’d lied to get Killian to marry her. Better that than the rumor Ruby clearly believed, which was that she’d terminated the pregnancy once she could legally access the settlement money from Liam’s death.

“Well, they’re wrong,” she continued. “I miscarried, and it was awful, and so I handled it like the stupid kid I was. I left, I changed my name, and I tried to do everything I could to forget.”

Not that she ever had.

“Your friend, Killian,” Graham asked slowly. “People told me how  _ understanding _ I am about how much time you’ve been spending with him.”

“He’s close with my parents,” she admitted. “They’re the only real family he has left. He’s working on his house, renovating it, and so he’s been staying with them.”

“Renovating his house with  _ your _ help.”

“He has  _ one hand, _ Graham.” He blanched at that, and she felt a weird thrill of righteousness. “Look, he was my best friend for ten years before I left. You don’t just stop feeling  _ anything _ for someone you’ve known for so long.”

“I suppose.” He paused. “Why did you come back?”

“Huh?”

“You married him, miscarried, and left,” he summarized, frowning. Emma’s heart sank; he was realizing the last piece of the puzzle. “I wondered why you went home right after we got engaged. You were still married, weren’t you?”

There was no point in hiding it. “I was. I’m not anymore,” she quickly added, before staring down at the bedspread.

This was it, wasn’t it? This would be the insurmountable obstacle: that she’d been married the whole time they’d been together—the whole time he’d known her—and she’d kept it a secret. And then she’d come back for the divorce and  _ stayed. _

Shared living space with her ex-husband. Spent an inordinate amount of time with him, all while being difficult about finding a new apartment to share with the man she’d  _ promised _ to marry.

He grabbed her hand. “Thank you for telling me.” He leaned in and kissed her gently; she flinched in surprise.

“You’re—you’re not angry?” Was she in an alternate universe?

He chuckled. “I admit, this is a lot to take in. But it doesn’t change who you are, and you’re the woman I’m in love with. And more than that, you risked coming back here, to a place that’s brought you so much pain and sadness,  _ just _ to get that divorce.” His expression became intensely serious. “Emma, actions speak louder than words to me. You came here for a divorce so we could be together. That tells me just how committed you are to this relationship, to  _ us. _ I couldn’t ask for more than that.”

He kissed her again. “Now, if you’re still up for it, I think we can still make the first apartment viewing, maybe only a few minutes late. What do you say?”

She wasn’t quite sure what to say, so she just nodded.

The apartments they looked at were, unsurprisingly, all pretty mediocre. The one apartment from Friday that had been any good was starting to feel strangely inevitable in a way it hadn’t before. It was hard for her to smile and have fun as she and Graham explored Augusta; she couldn’t stop thinking about how that dark little apartment was probably going to be her new home.

Graham, bless him, assumed that her mood was from the emotional strain of having to relive her painful past. That was definitely more than a small part of it, but she couldn’t quite place what the rest of it was. And so they enjoyed a quick lunch, did some window shopping, and went for a nice walk in a nearby park. They even stopped by the police station for Graham to introduce her to his future coworkers.

_ Trial _ coworkers, she told herself. But they just felt inevitable, too.

Dinner with Mom and Dad at Tony’s went fine. Really well, actually. Dad monopolized the conversation, first because he was trying to intimidate Graham and size him up, but then because he wanted to talk shop with another cop. Mom managed to butt in a bit to ask questions about his childhood and how their courtship had progressed. Graham was perfect the whole time, laughing at all of Dad’s bad jokes, and making the appropriate romantic comments as he described how he’d asked Emma out.

He gave her a chaste, happy kiss before getting out of the car as Mom and Dad dropped him off at Granny’s, and Emma tried to ignore her parents’ happy sighs.

When they got home, Killian wasn’t there. In all fairness, Emma knew he could install some of the lighting himself, but it still felt a little strange to have him working on the house without her. Was that stupid? It had only been a week, and she felt like it was a joint project.

As she finished getting ready for bed, there was a knock on her door. “Come in.”

It was Mom. “Just saying good night, sweetheart. We had a great time tonight.”

“Me, too.”

“Graham is absolutely lovely. Your father and I are very happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” She paused, her eyes darting back and forth a bit, like she wasn’t sure what she was about to say was a good idea. “I know we didn’t react all that well when you first came home to tell us. We were just so surprised; we didn’t think this was something you were interested in, not after what happened with Killian.”

“Mom.”

“I’m not saying that we thought or even  _ wanted _ —just, I’m getting sidetracked,” Mom said with a sigh. “What I want to tell you is that we’re both very happy for you, and Graham is really wonderful. You must be  _ so _ excited—moving in together in a few weeks, and then we’ll have the wedding to plan.”

Oh, right. The wedding. God, she’d sort of forgotten about that.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get some sleep. Sounds like apartment hunting didn’t go that well today, so you’ll definitely need to be well-rested for tomorrow.”

“Yeah, good point.”

“Good night, honey.”

“Night, Mom.”

She couldn’t sleep. Of course she couldn’t sleep. How could she sleep?

This morning, she’d had to spill her sob story to Graham, completely unexpectedly. And then dinner had gone really  _ well, _ which somehow felt like a  _ bad _ thing. And now she was lying in bed, trying to figure out what was so  _ wrong _ with what Mom had said to her.

Moving in with Graham. Marrying him. Seeing him every day. Dealing with finances together. Having kids together. Fighting over the same kind of stuff Mom and Dad fought over.

It was  _ inevitable _ now. The only thing that could have possibly fucked things up had happened: she’d told him the truth about her past, about her marriage to Killian, and about why she’d come home in the first place. And he  _ still _ wanted to marry her. The fact that she hadn’t gotten the divorce until now was a  _ good _ thing in his mind.

There was no risk of screwing things up with Graham. The only way this relationship could end would be if she decided to end it.

Shouldn’t that make her happy, that she couldn’t fuck it up?

Why did it feel like a bad thing instead?

Was she dreading this?

She lay there, trying out some words in her head.

_ I don’t want to be with Graham anymore. _

_ I’m not in love with Graham anymore. _

_ I don’t want to live with Graham. _

_ I don’t want to marry Graham. _

_ The only way this relationship will end is if I end it. _

_ I want to end it. _

She did not sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this update! Let me know what you think!


	12. Chapter Eleven

“I wasn’t expecting this,” Graham said, staring at the bedspread. “Well, at least, not after yesterday.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma said. For once, she felt like she was finally able to be totally honest, with both him and herself. “I really am. I know it doesn’t seem like it, since … Sorry, I should shut up.”

“It’s all right.” He sighed. “I know things have been rough for us, long distance, but I’d really hoped that after our talk yesterday, we could move forward.”

That made sense. He thought he’d reassured her by not breaking up with her in response to the divorce thing. Instead, that had kind of been the problem.

“I wish I could say more than this doesn’t feel right anymore. I don’t think this is what I want, and I don’t think you do either.”

She cringed at his expression. “Don’t tell me what I want or don’t want,” he said bitterly. “I love you, Emma. I’m willing to uproot my whole life for you.”

There was no response to that. He  _ did _ love her, and he’d been planning to move to Maine to be with her, even though she’d moved up here without even consulting him. He’d thrown everything into this relationship, and all he’d asked from her was her honesty, which she’d offered only when she’d had to.

“You deserve someone who’s all in,” she said gently. “And I’m just … not. I think I used to be.”

“This is about Killian.”

She felt her face burn. “It is  _ not _ about Killian.”

“He’s your ex, he lives with you, your parents love him, you spend tons of time with him—”

“This is  _ not _ about Killian! Graham, Killian and I were barely on speaking terms until a couple weeks ago, and he’s not  _ actually _ an ex-boyfriend! The only time I ever even kissed him was the day we got married. We even slept in separate  _ rooms _ for god’s sake!”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t develop feelings for him!” he retorted hotly.

“And I don’t have to have feelings for someone else to want to end our relationship!” she snapped back. Ugh, she needed to lower her voice; the walls were super thin and people would be dying for more Emma-related gossip. “Graham, there’s no way to do this without hurting you. I wish there were. But I …” She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to be in this relationship anymore.”

She carefully tugged off her engagement ring and handed it back to him. “I, uh … I’m sorry I couldn’t figure this out until after you’d gotten the trial period in Augusta.”

He took the ring from her with a sigh, staring at it sadly before shoving it into his jacket pocket. “Well, it was just a trial, at least. Not like I officially quit the precinct.”

“Do you need help with your stuff?” It was a stupid question; he’d brought a single duffel bag and it barely weighed anything.

“No, I’m fine.” He grimaced. “Well, not  _ fine, _ but you know what I meant.”

She waited by his car while he checked out. Her phone chimed with a text.

It was Killian.  _ Hope flat-hunting goes well; your mum said you hadn’t had much luck yesterday. _ She suppressed a watery laugh.

“It’s Killian, isn’t it?” Graham was suddenly in front of her, an eyebrow raised.

She sighed. “Graham, like I said—”

“No, listen.” He opened the passenger side door and tossed his bag in. “I think we’ll both need time and distance to figure out how this all went wrong. And I do hope you’ll change your mind. But while it’s true that you don’t need to have feelings for someone else to want to end our relationship … maybe both things could be true at the same time.”

“Graham—”

“Just something to think about,” he said sadly. “I’m going to head back to Boston. I’m sure you won’t mind being the one to cancel the viewings today.”

“I’ll handle it.”

He sighed. “At least I won’t have to finish packing.”

“Have a safe drive.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

She thought about asking for one last hug, but before she could, he was driving away.

It only took a few moments to cancel the viewings; it was just a matter of firing off a bunch of texts to realtors and landlords. As she finished, her phone rang; it was the station.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Oh, hi, Dad. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Something happened this morning that I thought you might want to hear about. Is this a good time, or are you about to view an apartment?”

She winced. One of the problems with making quick life decisions was that she usually forgot that she’d then have to  _ tell _ people about those quick life decisions. “Uh, actually, that’s been canceled.”

“Oh? Why?”

“It’ll be easier to explain in person. Do you need me to drop by the station?”

“Yeah, this’ll be better in person, too.”

Dad seemed a little surprised that she came into the station alone, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he just pulled her into his office and placed a police report in front of her. “I thought you might appreciate this.”

It was a report filed on behalf of Robert Gold. Apparently, his home safe had been broken into late last night, and the cash and valuables inside were now missing. Also missing? His Cadillac, and his son, Neal.

Emma rolled her eyes, and Dad laughed. “If only he hadn’t been too bent on embarrassing you,” he said. “He was so intent on making you feel like the bad guy, he let his son have the benefit of the doubt when he shouldn’t have.”

“At least this can’t be construed as my fault.”

“I’d like to see anyone try,” he agreed. “Anyway, I’m having Lance take on this investigation, since he’s the most experienced person here with the least investment. Not that I think you or I wouldn’t make a serious effort into finding this sonofabitch.”

“If anything, I’d think the two of us would be accused of  _ not _ putting in enough effort, just to spite Gold,” she admitted.

“My thoughts exactly.”

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “Neal’s gone, then. Again.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s kind of the opposite now, isn’t it? Way back when, him leaving was one of the worst things that could have happened to me, and now I’m just relieved he’s gone.”

“Things have changed. A lot of things have.”

“True.”

“You know,  _ you’ve _ changed.”

Her eyes snapped open. “What?”

“Not in a bad way,” he replied, waving his hand. “You’re just … I’m proud of you, sweetheart. You managed to get through a bunch of personal tragedies and come out stronger for it. I know I reacted badly about the whole  _ Swan _ thing, but I can see how you were able to take care of yourself and figure out who you are.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Hey, just stating fact,” he said, smiling back. “Now, what’s this about canceling apartment viewings? Did you and Graham decide on the one he was telling us about last night?”

“Uh … actually, no.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Emma, what happened?”

“It’s … not a big deal.”

He glanced down at her hands. “You broke up with Graham, didn’t you?”

Right, the engagement ring was gone. “Yeah, kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Okay, yes, I broke up with Graham.”

He sighed. “Well, I owe your mother a hundred dollars.”

“You—what? But she was in my room last night, all about how happy she was and how excited she was to plan the wedding!”

“Yeah, she figured that would give you a reality check.” Emma groaned. “It’s okay, a hundred dollars is nothing compared to paying for the wedding itself. So it’s fine. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m … I mean, I could be better. He’s really pissed at me, which I guess I can understand. I wish I could articulate what was wrong, but I really can’t. He’s  _ great, _ I just … don’t want to marry him.”

“Hey, that’s all that matters. He might be great, but if you don’t want to marry him, then it doesn’t matter.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Do you want me to tell your mother?”

“Yeah, I mean, it sounds like she already knows.”

“True. But if you want to—”

“No, it’s fine, you can tell her.” She sighed. “I’m free today, if you need me to work.”

“Nah, I already told Gold we’ll start the investigation this week, so I’m just gonna pass it off to Lance tomorrow. Not much to do around here besides that and the crossword.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You just ended a long-term relationship and engagement, Emma: take the day off.”

“All right, twist my arm …”

It was a gorgeous day, at least. Maybe she could head down to the beach or something. It was a little too chilly to swim, but not too cold to sit out in the sun with a book.

But it felt a little … rude to go down to the beach without Killian, especially if he was working on the house.

Should she go help him? She kind of  _ wanted _ to but … after what Graham had said, it was almost like proving him right. What did it say about her that she’d  _ just _ broken up with her fiancé the weekend they were apartment hunting, and all she wanted to do was go help her former best friend and ex-husband renovate his house?

Well, he wasn’t really a  _ former _ best friend anymore, was he? It had only been a couple weeks since they’d reconciled, but the “no talking about the past” rule seemed to have gotten them in a good place. And for all that they’d both changed so much, the connection between them really hadn’t.

It might have been ten years since they were as close as they’d been, but the fact was, Killian had been in her life ten times as long as Graham had. She shouldn’t feel weird about wanting to spend time with him. And it wasn’t like she was leaving Graham for Killian; Graham had been a boyfriend, and Killian was just her friend.

So she pulled up to her parents’ house, ran in and changed into her renovation clothes, and made her way down the path to Killian’s. She could hear the boombox as she made her way upstairs. “Killian?”

“Swan?” He poked his head out of Liam’s room. “Swan, what on earth are you doing here?”

“I, uh … had some free time.”

He frowned. “What happened to flat-hunting?”

She cleared her throat. “Yeah, that’s … over. It’s not happening.”

“What happened? Wait, hold on.” He turned to go back into the room to drop off his paint brush and turn off the music. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Graham and I are over.” It was getting easier to say it, and it had barely been an hour since it happened. “There’s not much to say about it, honestly.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh. “You end your engagement and that’s all you have to say?”

“I mean, yeah?”

“Did you have a fight?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I just didn’t want to marry him. My heart wasn’t in it. Look, it’s done, okay? That’s really it. I know that’s weird, but it’s true.”

He nodded. “And you want to work out your break-up frustrations by helping me prime some walls?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

In reality, she hated painting, especially priming. But it was boring in a way that kept her from thinking about what she’d just done this morning, and how awful it was that she was so relieved.

Meanwhile, they talked about a bunch of other stuff to keep her mind off things. She told him about Neal’s new disappearance, and he told her about his shopping trip and the progress he’d made. He was almost giddy about the house; once they were done with all the painting, he could install the lights and the rest of the fixtures, and then it was just a matter of cleaning out all the dust and finishing the floors.

It was then that she noticed something odd. “Wait, I just realized something.”

“What’s that?”

“You put a master bathroom in Liam’s room.”

“Aye. It’s the master bedroom, love. Sort of where the master bathroom ought to go.”

“Right, but why put a bathroom in a room no one sleeps in?” That had been something Killian had been adamant about after Liam’s death, that it was Liam’s room and he wasn’t going to sleep in it. She hadn’t either; after the wedding, she’d slept in the spare room at the end of the hall while Killian stayed in his room.

He moved to scratch behind his ear before he stopped short, noticing that he still had a roller in his hand. “I thought that perhaps it was time to move on.”

“Really?”

He blushed with guilt. “Not like  _ that, _ just that … this is a brand new house now, aye? It’s silly for me to put a bathroom in my bedroom when it’s clearly not the master. The layout’s all wrong, I’d have had to tear down walls, and it didn’t make any sense. I thought about simply keeping the single bathroom up here, but I had the resources for the second one.”

“You didn’t want to let the past keep you from making a decision that made sense,” she said.

“That’s exactly what your mum said to convince me.”

“She’s right.”

“She is. So, when this is finished, I’ll have a master bedroom for myself, a spare bedroom, and an office. It’ll take some getting used to, but I suppose …” He looked at her wistfully. “I suppose Liam wouldn’t be pleased with me keeping his room empty for so long out of some morose sense of duty.”

“No, I don’t think he would.”

He nodded and went back to priming.

It was late by the time they finally decided they were too tired to continue. They’d finished priming the bedrooms, and while Emma was miserable thinking about the fact that they still needed to do  _ two  _ paint layers on top of all this, she was proud of the work that Killian had put into this house.

He’d taken something dark and old and suffocating and turned it into a bright, airy, beautiful home. He’d done it with literally one hand, but he hadn’t been afraid to ask for and accept help. He was carving out a beautiful, peaceful life for himself.

She could imagine it, as she took stock of the whole house. Killian, whipping up breakfast before sitting down in the office at the end of the hallway to work on a story for the paper. Killian, getting his laundry started before sitting out on his patio with a good book. Killian, lighting the fire and preparing some hot cocoa. Sprinkling some cinnamon on top.

Her legs felt weirdly wobbly as she walked home. Maybe it was the break-up finally hitting her, or maybe it was the fact that she’d spent the entire day painting walls.

Or maybe it was because Graham might have been right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think!


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Discussion of alcoholism, hospitalization.

Realizing that there might be  _ something _ more to her feelings for Killian than she thought had been less earth-shattering than Emma would have predicted. If this were some kind of romantic comedy, she’d probably start acting awkwardly around him. But the problem was that she just wasn’t sure if her feelings were  _ really _ romantic or not.

She blamed their friendship growing up for her confusion. Casual intimacy between them had been the norm for years and years. Boys had cooties, but Killian didn’t count as a boy, so it was okay to hug him or hold his hand as they walked down to the beach.

(Of  _ course _ Killian didn’t count as a boy. Boys and girls couldn’t have sleepovers together, but  _ they _ were allowed to have sleepovers  _ all _ the time. Therefore, he wasn’t a boy. He was just Killian.)

She grew up leaning into him as they watched old movies, or cuddling on the couch when it was cold and Liam kept insisting that they should just put socks on instead of turning up the heat. Touching each other affectionately was normal, stroking the other person’s hair wasn’t weird, and cheek kisses were common.

Things weren’t as intense now, probably because there were ten years between them that had them out of practice. But even so, since Graham had left the picture, it was constant: hands brushing together, one of them playfully swatting at the other, a head on a shoulder. Once time, she’d fallen asleep against a thankfully-dry doorframe and Killian had carried her home.

They still didn’t talk about the past, besides Emma updating him on the Neal investigation (long story short, it wasn’t going anywhere, it probably never would, and no one really cared). But otherwise, it was like they’d hit play on their friendship, and Emma found herself almost craving their time spent together.

Did it mean anything? What had it meant when they were kids? Couldn’t it just mean the same thing now, or  _ had _ it been romantic back then, too? Or was that stupid?

But she couldn’t just  _ stop. _ She didn’t want to. In the ten years she’d been gone, she’d practically ached, she missed her family so much. And her family had always included Killian. That they had found a way to pick up their friendship, and have it feel so wonderfully familiar and comfortable, was something she couldn’t give up.

They didn’t talk about it, but she was pretty sure he felt the same way. He looked so much younger now, and he was smiling all the time. He still called her  _ Swan, _ but it was playful and affectionate instead of pointed and bitter, almost like he liked her new name. And it wasn’t like she was the only one initiating physical contact; it was fifty-fifty when all was said and done.

His nights on the couch were numbered; they’d be refinishing the floors on her day off tomorrow, and then it was just a matter of lugging a mattress up to his new bedroom the following week. But he talked about the future like he’d still see her every day, and for some reason, it made her smile.

Tonight, she was in charge of bringing Granny’s over after work, and when they were done eating, they’d get the equipment all set up and clean the floors thoroughly. It would be too late to do anything else, and there was a very real chance Killian was going to have to do the refinishing on his own on Sunday while Emma was at work, but there was nothing that could be done about it.

As she slid the to-go bag into the passenger’s seat of the Bug, she heard someone step up behind her. “You’ve got a  _ lot _ of nerve, Miss Swan.”

Emma could have sworn someone had actually poured ice water on her. She turned around slowly. “Hi, Regina.”

Ten years and a job in law enforcement helped make it easier to stand up to Regina Mills’ glare, but that didn’t mean it was easy. If looks could kill, there would be a tiny pile of ash where Emma currently stood. “It was bad enough that you  _ left,” _ Regina said angrily.

“So, not even going to lead into this?”

“Then it was bad enough that you came  _ back,” _ Regina continued, ignoring the interruption. “But now? What do you think is going to happen the next time you decide to up and ditch him again?”

“Ditch him?” She blinked. “You mean Killian?”

“Of  _ course _ I mean Killian!” Regina scoffed. “You’re lucky he’s not  _ dead _ after you left him, that all he lost was his hand.”

“Whoa, whoa. Regina, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“His accident was because of  _ you,” _ Regina spat. “And now you’re back to wind him around your finger until he can’t think straight again. Well, listen here, Emma  _ Swan. _ I didn’t get to be mayor of this town by ignoring what was going on with my constituents. And I  _ see _ what you’re doing.”

“And just what  _ am _ I doing?” She didn’t appreciate being for real  _ accosted _ on the street and yelled at. Who did Regina even think she  _ was? _ It wasn’t like she and Killian were even still close, if the last few months had been any indication.

“You got bored of your pretty little fiancé, and now you’re going after Killian. And I am  _ not _ going to let you lead him on and then leave him again.”

“I’m not—this isn’t even any of your  _ business.” _

“It will be when I get the next phone call about my drunk-driving would-be brother-in-law wrapping his car around another telephone pole!”

At least three or four people were staring at them now, since Emma had parked right in front of the diner. Regina seemed to realize it at the same Emma did. “Leave Killian  _ alone,” _ Regina finished, before whirling around and stalking away.

What the  _ hell _ had just happened?

What the  _ hell? _

Leading him on? Ditching him? His  _ accident? _

What the ever-loving  _ hell? _

She shook as she drove home, automatically parking at her parents’ house out of habit before walking over to Killian’s. He was in the kitchen, getting the island set up for dinner when she walked in the door. “Ah, there you are, darling!” He grinned widely. “I’m glad you’re here; I’m starving.” The smile faded. “Emma?”

She dropped the bag of food on the counter, feeling weirdly detached from her body. “Regina confronted me outside Granny’s.”

“She—she  _ what?” _

“Like, she came up to me and yelled at me.”

“Why?”

“You.”

His face grew dark. “What exactly did she tell you?”

“She said it was my fault that you had an accident and …” The conversation—if it could even be called that—was floating through her head in bits and pieces. Regina hadn’t been clear at  _ all, _ and maybe she’d misunderstood some of what had been shouted at her, but … “That it was my fault you lost your hand, that you were drinking and driving.”

“Oh, Emma. Emma, no.”

“So she lied? About your hand?”

“Come here.” He stepped over to her and led her by the elbow to the living room. It was pretty dark, given that they were just going to quickly eat dinner and then head upstairs to prep the floors, and so he hadn’t turned on any lights. Instead, as they sat on the couch, his face was partially shadowed, and illuminated from behind by the recessed lights in the kitchen.

“You know how you acted out, way back when, by running with Neal?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s when I started drinking.”

It was like being struck by lightning. Or, well, maybe not  _ exactly, _ but it was the closest thing she could think of. Holy  _ shit. _ “How—but we were  _ together _ all the time, I—”

“I hid it very well.”

“Was it because of me?” she asked, terrified of the answer.

He shook his head. “No, it was just … I was a kid, too. You remember what it was like. Everything just felt like  _ so _ much. Liam was lecturing me all the time, convinced that I was going to tag along with you and Neal and get into trouble. And Regina, of course, took it upon herself to act like my  _ mother _ or something, and I resented her thoroughly for it. And although you  _ were _ spending time with Neal, it wasn’t as though you and I were less close. I was jealous that you were moving on to what we both thought were more exciting things, and I was just stuck in some kind of rut.”

He sighed. “I was grateful, sometimes, when you’d pretend to be sick and go see Neal. I could stay up and drink myself into a stupor.” His voice was angry and bitter. “Liam would assume that I was groggy from staying up too late with you, or that I’d caught whatever minor illness had you heading home early.”

“I should have known,” she said firmly. “You knew what _ I’d _ been up to. What kind of friend was I?”

“I never wanted you to know,” he replied. “It was safe for me to know about Neal—you knew I wouldn’t tattle, and even though I loathed him, I would never have told you. But this … you would have told Liam or your parents. You would have yelled at me or something.”

“I …” Would she have? Probably. She probably would have gone off at him for being so reckless, only to have him throw her own behavior back into her face.

“You would have been right to,” he reassured her. “It wouldn’t have done any good, but you would have been right. I look back on it now and can’t believe how foolish I was. I’m Liam’s age now, you know? I think about my behavior back then and I’m so ashamed that I couldn’t find a better outlet for my existential crisis.”

“Maybe.” Her head was spinning. “God, I still can’t believe I didn’t notice, though. I lived with you for a month!”

“Well, I cut back considerably then. It was difficult, I assure you. With Liam gone, liquor was all that could keep me from feeling … as awful as I felt. But I wanted to be better for you and the baby.”

Her heart sank. Regina was right. Because then Emma had left, and without her or the baby …

“Don’t—I can see what you’re thinking, darling, and you’re  _ wrong. _ If Regina told you this was your fault, then she’s wrong, too.”

“But—”

“But alcoholism isn’t something you just wake up  _ cured _ from, and every day was a struggle even before you left.” He shook his head. “I made my own choices, Emma. You were not responsible for protecting me from an addiction of my own making, any more than I could have saved you from Neal. We each needed a wake-up call, and neither one of us could be that for the other.”

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Your father guessed, after you left. He’d have known the signs better than Liam would have. I was furious; at the time, I was so angry at everything and everyone, I couldn’t believe he would try to parent me in Liam’s place. It wasn’t until after the accident that I realized he was trying to reach out and help me  _ without _ being patronizing.

“It was a year after you’d left, and I was doing  _ nothing _ with myself. I had the settlement money, but with property taxes being dirt cheap and the house paid off, I was barely making a dent in it, just lazing around and drinking. I’d play at being sober when your parents or Regina came ‘round, but it just took control of my life.

“And then I made the mistake of deciding to go on a road trip. I packed my bags, left a note for your parents and Regina, and hit the road. And I was maybe two miles outside of town, at five o’clock in the morning in November, when I hit the telephone pole.”

“Five o’clock in the morning?”

“Oh, I made this decision around three,” he clarified wryly. “I was quite drunk at the time.”

“Jesus.”

“I sustained major injuries, including a punctured lung, a debilitating concussion, and, of course, the most noticeable one.” He held up his prosthetic hook. “Luckily, your father stepped in and warned the doctors that he suspected I was an alcoholic. If he hadn’t, they might not have known that I would go through withdrawal. With the rest of my injuries, it might have been fatal.”

“Shit.”

“Aye.”

“But if I hadn’t left—”

“Regina Mills is still grieving,” he said firmly. “Unlike her, the rest of us have sought extensive counseling since Liam’s death, your absence, and my accident. She needs to blame someone for the losses she’s experienced, and you’re convenient right now.” He smiled weakly, and in the dim light, it was heartbreaking. “Who knows? If she’s blaming you now, perhaps that means she’s finally stopped blaming me.”

“I’m still so sorry.” But how could she explain why she’d left? How could she find the words for it? Or for how much she’d missed him, and how much it hurt to know how much  _ he’d _ been hurting?

“Emma, I meant what I said about a wake-up call.” He leaned forward and took her hands in his. “You were not the cause of my alcoholism, and you were not responsible for curing me of it. Losing my hand has been a challenge, but it’s a small price to pay for getting my life back. Though there are days when I curse my teenaged stupidity because if I’d only been wiser, I’d be able to do things like hang drywall.” He chuckled.

“Well, you’ve got me to help.”

“Aye, that I do.” He squeezed her hands before clearing his throat. “Anyway, that’s why you’ve never seen me touch a drop of alcohol. One of the promises I made to your father when he agreed not to press charges was that I would never,  _ ever _ again take the wheel after drinking a single drop of alcohol. I found it easier to simply stop altogether.”

“Smart.”

“I think so.” He laughed. “It’s funny, you know. I used to drink because I thought it was the only way I could stop feeling so miserable. And it wasn’t until I stopped drinking that I could feel happy again. It might sound ridiculous, but sometimes I feel like …” He trailed off.

“Like what?” As painful as it had been to hear him spill his heart out, she couldn’t let him stop now.

“I worked so hard to become who I am now, to be satisfied with my life. And I really, truly am. And these past few weeks … I feel like they’ve been a reward of sorts, for finding a way to be happy without you. Is that absurd? That my reward for learning to be happy without you is for you to come back to me?”

She couldn’t breathe.

“I know I was angry and ungrateful when you came home. But I am so glad you’re here, Emma. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you more.” It was only when she said it that she realized she was crying.

“Oh, darling, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry.”

He pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. It was like the night that Neal had come back, except  _ nothing _ like it at the same time. It was just him and her and their feelings, and now they could be as physically affectionate as they’d always been, with his lips on her hair and her face in his neck and his mouth on her cheek and her lips against his and—

Oh god.

Her lips against his.

His hand cupping the back of her head, pulling her closer.

Her fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt.

His groan into her mouth. His legs between hers. The rug beneath them.

They never did get around to prepping the upstairs floors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this update! Let me know what you think!
> 
> I will be out of the country next week, and until I arrive at my destination, I will not know if I can access the internet on my computer at all. If I can't, then the next, final update will be the following Sunday instead of Thursday.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

Emma had slept with Killian Jones.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

She’d slept with him right there on his living room floor. It had just  _ happened. _

Killian.  _ Killian. _ Hell, in their entire friendship, the only kiss they’d ever shared on the lips had been the one after they’d been declared husband and wife.

Until last night.

They’d fallen into each other, messes of emotion, and suddenly everything had gotten so blurry. And then all that platonic bullshit had changed, and they were  _ kissing _ and  _ undressing _ and then—

She groaned unhappily. It had been so  _ good. _ Why did she feel so weird about it?

And she  _ did _ feel weird. She knew he did, too. Afterwards, they’d both sort of woken up from whatever spell they’d been under, and sheepishly gotten dressed. She’d reassured him about birth control, feeling stupid that they’d been so caught up that she hadn’t even thought to mention that she had an IUD. They’d tried to eat some of the cold takeout, making awkward comments about how much work they could possibly get done in one night. But it had felt so strange, and he looked relieved when she commented that it was getting late, and they could just start the floors tomorrow.

And then she’d run back home and burrowed under the covers, like she could  _ possibly _ hide from what they’d done.

And wow, did she wish she could. Even now, all she wanted to do was stay under the blankets, her head shoved under her pillow, and pretend like everything was  _ fine. _

But if she’d learned anything from all that had happened with Graham, it was that there was nothing to be gained from ignoring her feelings. She just had to sit with them for a while, and let them settle. If she had time to think, maybe it would be clear what she wanted, and what she needed to do. Right?

She picked up her phone to text Killian, hoping he wouldn’t be too hurt if she begged off for the day. To her surprise, he’d already texted her.  _ I think I might wait on the floors. I slept on my own couch last night and have a nasty crick in me neck. _

It was timestamped only a few minutes ago; clearly, she hadn’t been the only one to sleep late this morning.  _ Yeah that’s fine. We can aim for Saturday next weekend? _

_ Aye, that would be lovely. I suppose I’ll see you later tonight. _

_ Okay, see you then. _

Good. She had time to think before she saw him.

But … how did she figure things out about Graham before? She hadn’t exactly been  _ trying. _ She needed to just clear her head and maybe she’d have another epiphany.

She wandered into the living room. “Good morning!” Mom said from the dining room, where she was working on her lesson plan. “Have you seen Killian? I don’t think he came in last night.”

“He texted me. He fell asleep on the couch at his place.”

“Oh. That’s strange.”

“Nah, he was just too wiped to make it back here. He’s fine.”

“Well, that’s good at least. Are you heading over soon? Today’s all about the floors, right?”

“Uh, we’re going to do the floors next weekend. Killian slept funny, and we’re both kind of burnt out from all the work on the house.”

She tried to keep her voice light and even, and Mom seemed to buy it. “Oh, okay. That’s fine, you’ve both earned a break. And I’m tired of how much take-out you’ve been eating; you’re  _ both _ going to be eating home-cooked meals this week, okay?”

“Will do. I think I’m gonna go read on the porch. Anything good I can borrow?”

“Hm, I’m not sure we have much that you haven’t already read,” Mom said. “If you spot anything interesting, let me know and I’ll let you know if you’d like it or not.”

“Okay.” She stepped over to the bookshelf in the living room and ran her fingertip across the books’ spines.

Read it. Read it, like, six times. Read it. Hadn’t read it but hated the author’s other stuff. Read it. Read it. Didn’t look interesting. Read half of it before getting bored. Read it. Read—

What?

How did  _ this _ get here?

She pulled the copy of K.L. Barrie’s  _ And I Will Win It _ from the shelf. She could have  _ sworn _ she’d given it back to Graham. She distinctly remembered putting it into the box she had shipped back to Boston, along with the rest of his belongings she’d accumulated.

Was she misremembering? Had she left it out by accident, and then Mom had put it away in the bookshelf? Had Graham sent it back? Was she going crazy?

She flipped open the cover and was greeted with Killian’s looping scrawl.

_ David and Mary Margaret, I could not have done this without your love and support. Thank you for everything. Love, Killian. _

What?

_ What? _

But this book was by K.L. Barrie.

The proverbial ton of bricks hit. Barrie was Killian’s mom’s maiden name.

“Everything okay?” Mom asked. “Did you find a book?”

“Uh-huh,” she responded weakly. “I’ll be out on the porch.”

Oh  _ god, _ did he really write this?

The dedication read:  _ To my wife—I hope to one day be as worthy as Charles. _

Oh  _ no. _ She remembered the look on Killian’s face when she’d criticized the whole  _ worthiness _ thing. He’d been dismayed because  _ he’d _ written it.

He’d written a fucking  _ novel _ about a guy trying to become worthy of his best friend’s love, and he’d dedicated it to  _ her _ because he wanted to be  _ worthy _ of her. Holy  _ shit! _

The book made so much more  _ sense _ now! How Leia had left but Charles had never hated her. How he’d done everything he could to become the best person he could be, for when she returned. How he’d gone after her to find that she was the same but different, and they’d fallen in love. How they hadn’t been right for each other until they could become the people they were supposed to be.

He’d written this book, and it was about them.

He was in love with her.

And he thought she left because he hadn’t been good enough.

She sped down the path to his house, barefoot and in pajamas, book gripped tightly in her hand.

He wasn’t in the kitchen or living room, and if he’d made himself breakfast, he’d done it early enough that the cooking smells had dissipated. She carefully made her way upstairs, wincing at the dirt she was tracking everywhere; this was going to make cleaning the floors even more annoying. But he wasn’t on the second floor either. He wasn’t in the basement, or on the patio.

Okay, she just had to think. Maybe he went out? No, his car keys were hanging on the hook near the door, his leather jacket was on the coat rack, and his shoes were on the mat.

His beach. He was on his beach. He had to be.

As she climbed over the dune behind the house, she saw him, sitting cross-legged on the old beach blanket, staring at the water. He heard her approach and turned around, a befuddled expression on his face.

She stomped over as best she could and almost threw the book in his lap. “You were  _ always _ worthy, you  _ idiot.” _

He blinked. “What?”

“Why the  _ hell _ would you think you weren’t?”

“Emma, what are you talking—”

“I know you wrote this, okay? It’s Mom and Dad’s copy.” He closed his mouth and swallowed hard. “I feel so stupid for not seeing it until now, but it’s so  _ obvious _ now that I know.”

“Emma, I can explain.”

“Explain that you wrote a whole novel about us getting together?”

He flinched. “It’s—you’re over-simplifying it.”

“You thought you weren’t worthy.” She felt like a record caught in a loop.  _ He thought he wasn’t worthy _ went through her head again and again. “You  _ actually _ thought that.”

“You left,” he said quietly. “It was the only conclusion I could come to.”

“Were you in love with me back then?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. What would she even  _ do _ with his answer, either way? If he hadn’t been in love with her  _ then, _ maybe he wasn’t in love with her  _ now _ , and she was just a huge idiot. But if he  _ had _ been in love with her then—

“I didn’t realize it until you told me you were pregnant. But yes.”

It was like all the air had disappeared, which was frankly absurd because she was outside. She sank to the ground beside him.

“The drinking was  _ not _ your fault,” he said. “It wasn’t. But if I had been good enough … Emma, if I’d been the person you needed, you could have stayed.”

“You were  _ always _ the person I needed,” she said, the words flying out of her before she could think. “You were  _ always _ there for me, never judging, always on my team.”

“That can’t be true. If I had been—”

“If  _ I _ had been the person  _ you _ needed, I could have stayed,” she said firmly. “But I was dragging you down with me. I’d ruined my life, and I was going to ruin yours, too.”

“How can you even think that?” he asked, horrified. “You were my  _ person, _ Emma.”

“I know.” She sucked in a breath. “Killian, I couldn’t be there for you. I was so wrapped up in my own misery, and … I thought that I was marrying you to make sure you wouldn’t be alone. But it just turned into  _ you _ taking care of  _ me. _ That’s not how relationships work; you’re supposed to take care of  _ each other. _ And instead, you were pouring yourself into the marriage, and I was just … the fuck-up who was taking advantage of your grief to get your settlement money.”

“I knew you weren’t.”

“But it  _ felt _ like I was. To me, to the town. Killian,  _ I _ wasn’t worthy of  _ you. _ You deserved so much better than me, okay?”

“No.” He shook his head almost angrily. “Emma, no, that wasn’t true.”

“It was. And I just  _ knew _ if you came to Boston and found me, it was … I couldn’t have turned you away. I couldn’t have left you a second time.”

“Then  _ don’t.” _ He grasped her hand tightly. “Don’t leave me. Emma, I am  _ so _ madly in love with you.”

“I love you, too.” As soon as she said it, everything clicked into place, every last piece of the puzzle fitting neatly together, becoming whole.

And then he was kissing her, and his arms were around her, and hers were around him. And it was perfect, so much better than last night had been, because now  _ she _ knew, and  _ he _ knew.

They loved each other.

He was smiling dreamily when they finally pulled away, and she was sure that she had an equally ridiculous expression on her face. But there was still one problem.

“But you need to  _ get _ it,” she said firmly. “You don’t need to change to be worthy or whatever. Okay? Like, I expect the next book dedication to fix that.”

He laughed, a beautiful, free, unburdened laugh. “Well, it’s bad form to dedicate a book to the same person twice, but I suppose every rule is made to be broken. If I address you by name, my publisher might not even notice.”

“Wait, do you have a book deal?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you  _ say _ anything? How did I not even  _ know _ about this? You know how this damn town is.”

“Well, the year I was in the workshop, the rumor mill had been churning out the story that I’d been traveling to Boston once a week for some sort of additional therapy or rehabilitation. With the exception of your parents, and now you, no one knew the truth. And I’ve managed to keep the publishing deal quiet by using a pen name.”

Right, K.L. Barrie. “What’s the ‘L’ for? I thought you didn’t have a middle name.”

He blushed. “For Liam.”

Ah, yeah. She squeezed his hand. “He’d be proud.”

“I hope so. Sometimes I think he’d be livid about the house.”

“Only because he’d agree with me about the hallway sconces.”

“Those are bloody perfect, and you know it.”

They sat silently for a bit, leaning into each other and staring at the water. She shivered, realizing that it was October and she was sitting outside in a tiny T-shirt and pajama shorts; Killian quickly shrugged off his sweatshirt and draped it over her shoulders. It smelled like him and she sighed happily.

Twenty-four hours, and so much had changed. Hell, almost five months, and almost  _ everything _ had changed. She thought back on her younger self, desperately sad and without any hope for the future. What would little Emma Nolan think about all this?

“It’s funny,” Killian said.

“What is?”

“I had no idea you were in Boston, and yet I was there once a week for the workshop.”

“You know, August used to invite us to readings all the time. Graham always went, but I never did.”

“Pity you didn’t.”

“It was for the best.”

“You think so?”

“It’s like you wrote.” She stared into the gray-blue water. She hadn’t felt this peaceful since … hell, since before Neal Gold had swept into her life, twelve years ago. “We had to find ourselves, and become the people we were meant to be. We weren’t right for each other until now.”

He wrapped his arm around her. “I like who you are now very much.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm, yes. I even love you.”

“You said.”

“And then you said it back.”

“I did.”

“Marry me.”

“Whoa, what?” She pulled back, expecting to see him grinning at his own joke. But he was entirely serious, not even smiling.

“I mean it,” he said. “I know how I feel about you, Emma. I know how well we work together, how seamlessly we fit into each other’s lives and hearts. I’ve lived ten years without you, and I don’t intend to let anything like that happen ever again.”

“But we …” Arguments died immediately on her tongue. Where were the rational arguments against this craziness? The gossip that would fly through town—no, she didn’t care about that. Her parents—no, her parents probably were hoping that this would happen. Regina would—no, Regina would have to live with it, and maybe she’d even come around.

She wanted this life with him. She wanted to spend her days with him, fixing up the house and arguing over light fixtures. She wanted to eat take-out at the kitchen island while they talked about everything and nothing at all. She wanted to have him do the laundry while she folded it. She wanted him lighting the fire and curling up with her as they drank hot cocoa together. She wanted to make love to him, and not just on the living room floor.

She wanted to be his wife.

“Okay.”

He blinked and raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s get married.”

“Now, hold on,” he said, his tone one of mock seriousness. He put on his fake thinking face. “In the past six months, you got engaged to another man, then divorced me, then dumped  _ him. _ Are you  _ sure?” _

She snorted. “Sorry, I guess a decision can’t be the  _ right _ decision if I don’t need time to think about it.”

He scoffed indignantly. “Throwing my words back at me? Bad form.”

“You literally just proposed to me and then made fun of me for saying yes.”

His scowl morphed into a grin. “You did say yes.”

“Yeah, I did. Is that okay?”

The kiss he planted on her was as good an answer as she was going to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'd love to hear what you think!


	15. Epilogue

Regina  _ did _ come around, after a private conversation with Killian. Emma hadn’t been present for it (“Private means  _ private,  _ Emma,” Killian had said, before shutting the door in her face), but given how embarrassed Regina seemed afterwards, it had to have been a pretty epic dressing down.

In contrast, Mom and Dad were absolutely thrilled. Mom especially, winning another hundred dollars off of Dad—apparently, he was convinced it would take another few months for them to even get together, let alone get married.

And yet here they were, getting married. Again.

Some things never changed. Dr. Hopper was still the only ordained officiant in town, and Granny’s was still the best place to hold the reception. Mom and Dad both insisted on walking her down the aisle, and although she’d wanted to do something a little bolder, she agreed to wear white like the first time.

But then again, some things  _ did _ change. Emma practically bubbled over with excitement in the weeks leading up to the wedding, to the point where Killian made her put a dollar in the “Wedding Jar” every time she mentioned it without someone else bringing it up first. There was no pregnancy or death looming over them, taking away from what should have been a day that was just about their love for each other. And better yet, this time around, they both  _ knew _ that they loved each other and were loved in return.

Her dress was sleek and sexy instead of virginal. His suit actually fit him. She laughed so hard as they fed each other cake that she almost choked on it. He put on an impromptu display, juggling three oranges with his hand and hook. And they danced and danced until they both kicked off their shoes.

And although, just like ten years ago, they returned alone to Killian’s house—their house—this time they fell asleep in the same room, in the same bed, in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this story! I would love to hear what you thought of it!


End file.
